


Unearthly

by HarbourLights



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableist Language, Angels, Archangels, Demons, Disabled Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Angels, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Imprinting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious References, Scent Marking, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, So Much Snark, Supernatural Elements, Violence, Wing Kink, for a story about angels there is a surprising lack of god talk, two idiots falling in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarbourLights/pseuds/HarbourLights
Summary: Heaven had no use for an Angel with broken wings, especially one who had lost all taste to wage the Holy War.Nate, formally the archangel Nathaniel, was sent to earth to combat demonic influence amongst humans in the guise of a London detective and, more importantly, to stay out of the way. This suited Nate just fine.Only it’s far from the quiet semi-retirement he had hoped for. Nate unwittingly catches the attention of a demon, a very powerful demon, who could quite easily wipe Nate off the face of the earth. But instead of killing him, the Demon seems more interested in playing games. Games that Nate doesn't know the rules to.And Nate? Well Nate doesn't know what to do with that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have watched Good Omens about three times already and the idea of an angel and a demon on opposite sides wasjust too good to pass up on. I could never write the comedy that Good Omens has so I wanted to put a spin on my own characters and see where it took me. I hope you guys enjoy it.

**Chapter One**

The woman had been beautiful once.

Her golden hair fanned out like rays of sunshine on the dirty pavement, the long strands darkening to a deep red around her head as blood spread out in a pool. Her eyes, open and still with that distant expression death often left in them, were a deep green and almost stark against her bloodless white cheeks and wet with the autumnal rain shower.

It was easier to stare at her face than at the rest of her. When somebody decides to take a swan dive off of a fourteen story building, the outcome leaves a mess of flesh and blood and bone, limbs bending at impossible angles that made the eyes water. 

Nate took it all in with slow shallow breaths, grimacing the whole time. It wasn’t because of the grisly scene in front of him, being a Detective Inspector in the heart of London for the past six years meant that he had seen his fair share of suicides by high places. It was the fact that this woman used to be an Angel.

What went unseen by the human eyes of the first response team of London PD was the dark sweeping outline, reminiscent of scorch marks, of angelic wings on the ground beneath her. An Angel may be Immortal but the human vessel certainly wasn’t. When the body hits the ground, the Angel was forcefully ejected from the human plane back to Heaven.

_No Angel would commit human suicide,_ Nate thought as he tilted his head up to peer at the tall glass behemoth of a building, rain drops catching in his eyelashes. _It went against the laws of Heaven. So what made her do it?_ She must have been pushed. Either it had been a human or the pusher knew she was an Angel and that Angels weren’t allowed to display their wings where humans could see. She would have no choice but to plummet to her vessel’s death. 

Nate blinked the rain away, turning from the sky with an awkward swallow. The height would give anyone vertigo. 

The site had already been recorded before he arrived. A standard issue privacy screen was in place to keep the morbidly curious out and to preserve the scene. Street traffic had been diverted in another direction, much to the irritation of the perpetually put-out Londoners. Beside the screen were a couple of forensic sweepers dressed in the shapeless white overalls and blue medical face masks were packing up their equipment and evidence bags to take back to the labs in Scotland Yard to be processed. Two uniformed EMT’s with a wheeled gurney and body bag were waiting for Nate to give the go ahead so they could retrieve the body. 

They had absolutely no idea what they were really dealing with.

Nate felt the presence of his Sergeant materialise at his right side, pocket notebook out and flipped to pages filled with the untidy scrawl that most police officers seem to fall into. Harriet ‘Harri’ Khalif was on the taller side for women, standing at six feet, about a couple inches more than Nate’s own height of five foot eight. She was in her late twenties, skin and natural hair from her Somali mother, and eyes that had the uncanny knack of a thousand yard stare that could make even the toughest convict spew all of their secrets to her. Incidentally, that stare was also from her mother, having to deal with four boisterous sons.

She didn’t look his way. “Afternoon, Sir. Looks like we got ourselves a clear cut case of suicide by another business professional in a high stakes game of money.”

Nate hummed, eyes back on the Angel- vessel but otherwise keeping quiet. 

“The name is Valerie Monroe, got her name and listed address from one of the receptionists at Cambridge Associates, the company building she jumped from.”

Nate glanced at the building’s entrance to the left of them, took in the gleaming stainless steel signage of the company name that screamed wealth and the suited security guards that flanked the revolving doors, nodding to other suited men and women as they entered and exited. He couldn’t help but wonder if he tried to walk into that building without the protection of his police badge, in his off the rack rumpled navy blue suit and shabby old wool coat that probably had its fair share of holes in the cuffs, would they be polite or aggressive in telling him to kindly remove himself from the premises. 

Nate quirked an eyebrow. “Cambridge Associates? Is that the high stake game of money you were referring to?”

Harri nodded. “One of those shareholder companies that make and lose millions in one day like it was chump change. The type of figures that the rest of us working class peons would shit ourselves over.”

Nate’s lips pulled upwards. What had once caused him to shudder with horror at the crassness of such language that most Humans seemed to delight in, now only made him faintly amused. Crassness got the point across. “Is that your personal opinion, Sergeant?”

“Yes, Sir. Mine and anyone else who puts in overtime on fifty hour weeks just to afford one of those late holiday deals to Benidorm, the home of plastic umbrellas in colourful cocktails.”

“Is that the place where you get into fights with the Germans over the use of the better poolside loungers and get embarrassingly drunk on local sangria?”

Harri widened her eyes. “So you have been on one of those vaycays, Sir. I knew it.”

“Only relaying what I've heard. For Detective Inspectors, Benidorm is too plebeian. We can really push the boat out and get the all inclusive deal in the Canary Islands.”

Harri sighed wistfully. “The dizzying heights of promotion, Sir. Give me a couple more years and I'll be taking your job and enjoying all the perks of the Portuguese highlife.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Nate agreed amiably, before turning serious again. “What did Valerie Monroe do for the company that would cause you to think suicide?”

Harri glanced over her notes again. “I interviewed a Mr Robert Miller, the man who put in the 999 call to us and he was her personal assistant. Over the last week she had been making poor judgement calls in regards to client accounts that lost them money, selling shares when she should have kept them for a better return. Lost big name accounts for the company, which didn’t go down very well for her bosses. Lost close to twelve million in seven days”

Nate whistled lowly. “That’s got to hurt.”

“Chump change, sir,” she reminded him, “but a hit on their reputation to potential clients. They can’t afford to look like they don’t know what they are doing. The whole floor heard the berating she got for it. There were even betting pools amongst the assistants as to how long she would last before she got fired. Seems she jumped before she was pushed, figuratively speaking. Mr Miller watched her enter her office, open the window and calmly as you please step out of the window like she was leaving one room for another.”

Nate blinked. So she wasn’t pushed, then. “He witnessed her jumping?”

Harri flipped her notebook closed and palmed it back into her coat pocket. “The offices are made up of glass cubicles and the assistant desks in the middle of the floor. No privacy between colleagues at Cambridge Associate, not even to pick your nose discreetly. An officer has taken him down to the station to make his statement official for the Superintendent. Do you want me to round up the floor for more witnesses?”

Nate nodded. “As many as you can. I want more of a picture of her personality, what her stress levels were like, you name it. Does she have any family that we know of?” He asked, already knowing the answer. Angels were not permitted to have relations with humans. They didn’t want a repeat of the Nephilim debacle happening all over again. Not their finest hour, to put it bluntly. 

“No husband or wife, no children, parents deceased. Her next of kin is listed as her next door neighbour, a Mrs Henderson.” Harri shrugged. “I guess she wasn’t big on relationships of any sort.”

“Guess she wasn’t,” Nate said. “While you’re doing that, I’d like to have a conversation with this irate boss of hers.”

“Thought you would, sir.”

* * *

Cambridge Associates was just as ostentatious on the inside as it was on the outside. The floor was made of a light cream marble, the overhead lighting catching the pearlescent sheen until it practically sparkled. The pillars were of a similar marble, black in colour, the furniture a pricey mahogany and butter soft leather seating that you could sink into and stay there for the rest of the day without complaint.

One of the receptionists was kindly ‘volunteered’ by the rest of the staff to show him up to the fourteenth floor, Nate catching the momentary look of panic crossing her face before she managed to school her face into polite cheerfulness. “If you could follow me please, Inspector.”

Nate didn’t take it to heart. Most civilians, regardless of whether they had done something illegal or not, felt uncomfortable with an on-duty detective. Nobody really wanted to be at fault for anything.

He followed her into the elevator, her towering stiletto heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor. The ascent was almost motionless, Nate could only tell they were moving by the floor numbers flickering on the panel above the door.

“Did you know Valerie Monroe?” He asked to break the awkward silence in the small enclosed space. 

The receptionist blinked in surprise, her delicate hands smoothing down the non existent wrinkles in her dove grey suit jacket. “Er, no. That’s to say, I knew her name and to say good morning to her as she passed the front desk. We don't have much in common with those who work on the top floor,” she said with a small deprecating shrug. “But she always said hello to us when she came to work.”

Nate hummed his understanding. Professionals climbing the ladder of wealth often don't see those they consider the help as anything more than that. But an Angel would. 

It's the help that would often see something that perhaps her superiors may have not wanted anyone to see, even realised she had seen anything. He reached out with his Angelic grace, coaxed her to feel at ease with him, that he was safe to talk to, that whatever secrets she had he would keep in the strictest of confidence. 

The receptionist opened up to him with barely a nudge, her soul as bright and untarnished as a shiny new coin. “I just can't understand why she did it. Why would she kill herself? I know the stress of their jobs can be intense, but she was rich and pretty. She had everything going for her…”

The words trailed off in distress and Nate reached out to touch her arm, expressing calm through the link. She visibly relaxed under his hand. 

“Sometimes with tragedies like these, they won't make much sense to other people other than those who have committed suicide. Be it depression, grieving, mental health. suicide can feel like the only way out to those who are going through it.”

The receptionist nodded. “It's such a shame.”

The elevator stopped at the fourteenth floor and the doors slid open noiselessly. They were immediately met by a young man who was looking impatiently at his gold Rolex watch. He glanced up as the doors opened, a look of relief on his face. “Ah, there you are. I'll take it from here,” he said to the receptionist without so much as a glance in her direction. “Follow me please, Mr Devereaux is waiting for you.”

Nate turned back to the receptionist with a charming grin that made her flush. “Thank you for all of your kind help. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

The receptionist smiled. “You're very welcome, Inspector.”

The man had already left, clearly expecting Nate to follow like a puppy. Not one to give chase, Nate walked at a sedate pace after him down the hall. It was flanked by uniform sized cubicles that, at another time, would have had people busy working at their computers or on the phone. Today there was a hushed murmur settling over the whole floor, people were in groups of four or five, talking quietly amongst themselves. They were sending not-so subtle glances at the cubicle at the end of the hallway, which Nate could only assume was Valerie’s. 

When Nate got closer, he realised there was a man who was so very casually sitting in Valerie’s desk chair with his back to everyone. 

Not like it was essentially a crime scene or anything - 

The walking Rolex had already got to the open door and was simpering, “The police Inspector is here, Sir.”

“Thank you, Tyler. Show him in and get yourself to lunch,” the man said, still not turning around, his voice deep and crisp and expressionless all rolled into one. It would have been a pleasant voice if it didn't sound quite so droll. 

“Sir,” the Rolex guy - Tyler, said, shooting Nate a suspicious look, like Nate was up to no good. “Are you sure you don't want me to stay?” 

Nate raised his eyebrows at him, but the boss beat him to it with “I'm sure I can handle a discussion with a police Inspector,Tyler, thank you.”

At that moment, he felt a fission of power, of _persuasion_ , brush against his skin and Nate’s grace shivered at the feel of it. He froze in the doorway, heart rate kicking up as he watched Tyler’s pupils blow wide and he left them without a word. 

The palms of Nate’s hands itched, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Because that persuasion wasn't like the Influence Nate had ever felt before. It wasn't Angelic, it was far from it, and the warning bells were going off in his head like screams -

The man in the chair finally swivelled in his seat and Nate knew the moment their eyes connected that this wasn't a man at all but a -

“Demon,” Nate hissed the word and it hung between them like they dripped poison. 

His face matched his voice, flawless in its symmetry, ageless in its beauty but completely void of any expression. It's like he was carved from stone for all the warmth he exuded and it was just like a demon, _the filth of the world_ , to choose a vessel that belonged to a Michelangelo painting. Dark hair that feathered across a smooth forehead, dark eyebrows above eyes that are so blue they are startling against his cool colouring. His skin tone hints at European descent and a tall lithe body encased in a tailored dark blue suit that fit him like a glove. 

“Angel,” The Demon returns and those lips stretch into a smile that completely transformed the face into one of pure delight. It was like he had finally come to life at Nate's entrance. 

“I should have known,” Nate said, hands balled into fists at his side to keep from reaching out and doing something his superiors would make him regret. “An Angel commits suicide and I find a Demon at the scene.”

The smile stretched wider. “Careful, Angel,” he said, a long fingered hand waving airily at the glass front of the cubicle. “We have an audience. A _human_ audience and I don't think your Angelic brethren would like you starting a fight where they can see.”

Nate steadied himself, aware after the fact that he had taken a step into the room and his grace was bucking under his control to lash out. Nate straightened and took a moment to get himself under control, to unfurl his hands from the shaking fists they made. His nails had made half moon cuts in is palms and the little stings helped to centre himself. 

“Much better,” the Demon crooned and then stood from the seat in one fluid motion. Nate was loathe to realise he was shorter than the Demon by a few inches and considerably less broader in the shoulder too. “My human name is Aeron Devereaux.”

Nate blinked. “Aeron? A little on the nose, isn’t it? Naming yourself after an ancient Celtic God of slaughter?"

Aeron’s eyebrows rose. “God or Goddess, depending on the tradition. You know your human history, most Angels don’t bother. And who’s to say I just kept the name the Celts gave to me?”

That would make him a very _old_ Demon and powerful at that. 

Aeron cocked his head, studying Nate. “And who might you be?”

Nate didn't answer. His eyes flickered between Aeron and the open window. “What have you done?”

“I thought that would have been obvious,” he said, his hands in the pockets of his immaculate trousers, completely at ease. “You said it yourself, an Angel’s vessel has been found painted across a London street and here I am, a Demon at the scene of such a heinous crime.”

Heinous? Without a shadow of a doubt, but how was it done? A Demon shouldn't be able to do this to an Angel, not without a fight, not even as old as Aeron hinted at being. It made no sense. 

“How?” Nate asked before grimacing at the cracking in his voice. “How did you do it?”

For the first time since laying eyes on the Demon, that smile disappeared and a look of fierce satisfaction stole across his features, making the angles of his face stand out in sharp relief. “Why, I simply suggested that she should take some fresh air, clear her head. She took me up on my offer.”

Nate felt the frisson of fear down his spine, electrify his limbs. “Persuasion? Are you telling me you have the power to persuade an Angel to destroy her vessel against God’s will?” 

No Demon should have that amount of power to persuade an Angel to do such a thing, it went against their Directive from Heaven. Humans were susceptible to both Angel and Demonic persuasion, that was how it worked, but not a Demon persuading an Angel or vice versa. 

Nate stared at him. _Just who are you?_

“You sound incredulous,” Aeron pointed out, clearly enjoying Nate’s reaction. “Are you of the opinion that evil can't triumph over Good? Will you not take this incident as definitive proof that such things can happen?”

It was a ridiculous question, they both knew it. Nate was in the police force, he knew very well what can happen with free will. The Demon enjoyed mocking him. 

Aeron must have read some of Nate’s thoughts on his face. “But then you already know that, don't you? Your line of work being what it is. It must disappoint your kind, seeing what humanity is capable of, their capacity to do great evil. Some days, they can really put us Demons to shame.”

Nate snorted in derision. “I seriously doubt that. But you know what, I often find that when a human commits the sin of murder or rape or abuse, that it's because a low life Demon has whispered sweet nothings in their ears.”

Aeron’s smile was low and burning and Nate felt his stomach swoop uncomfortably at the sight of it. The voice was like velvet. “You give my kind too much credit.”

That smile made Nate extremely uncomfortable. “We are not philosophising here, we are talking about you persuading Valerie Moore to take a running leap out of her window. “

“Well then,” Aeron said, stepping forward and raising his hands and Nate stiffened, expecting an attack, but all the Demon did was put his hands together in front of him and offered them to Nate, his voice warm with amusement. “Are you going to arrest me, Inspector? Clap me in handcuffs and march me to your police station to read me the riot act?”

“I bet you would like that, wouldn't you.” Nate had no idea what possessed him to say it and his cheeks grew warm with the innuendo it hinted at. 

The Demon’s smile was all teeth. “It depends. Would it be worth my while?”

Nate cleared his throat awkwardly. “Arresting you would be the least of your problems. You have broken the treaty between my kind and yours in harming each other, you had no cause to do what you did -”

Aeron’s eyes flashed, blue darkening to cobalt and he pulled his hands away. “No cause? I had ample cause to do what I did, your archangel overstepped his bounds and I corrected them.” 

“Because an Angel was here, working for you?”

Aeron looked utterly disgusted. “Because Sandriel planted an Angel in my company without any sort of intelligence or deception.”

Nate blinked, pulled up short by the vehemence. “Wait, are you telling me that it’s not because he placed someone to spy on you, but you did it in retaliation or the fact that the plant was so blatant?”

“I expect Angelic spies, Inspector,” Aeron said coldly. “It's what makes this vying for supremacy so exciting. Sandriel is taking all the fun out of it.”

Nate bit down on the snarl that threatened to let loose. Exciting. That wasn’t the word he would have used to describe the war their kind had been waging for a millennia. That wasn't the word he would have used for the blood, the loss, the agonising pain and suffering he had endured when his wings were on fire -

“You should be thankful, Inspector.”

The Demon’s words pulled Nathan back romantic plunging into the past he would soon rather forget. “How so?” He asked, voice gruff. 

The Demon was watching him, his face in that impressively blank mask that Nathan had no hope of reading. “I only went so far as to destroy her vessel, sending the Angel back to Paradise. If I truly took offence to the heavy handed gesture, I could have destroyed her along with it.”

That had to be a boast. No Demon on earth could destroy an Angel, wipe their grace out of existence. This Demon had been on earth for far too long, grown an ego to match the wealth. 

The Demon was still looking at him with that impassive face but the eyes were narrowed, thoughtful. “Maybe I didn't give Sandriel enough credit. Maybe he’s smarter than I had originally thought. After all, I wasn't made aware that he had an Angel working on the police force. Yet low and behold, here you are.”

Nathan shook his head. “Hate to break it to you but Sandriel didn't place me on the force. I chose it for myself, it had nothing to do with your feud with the archangel.”

Aeron laughed. “You would say that, of course. Little spy that you are.” 

“Whatever games are being played between you and Sandriel, it has nothing to do with me,” Nathan stated firmly. “You can believe me or not, it makes no difference either way. This case will be written up as a suicide, file closed. That's all I'm concerned about.” 

With a nod, he turned his back on the Demon and started to head back towards the elevator. 

“You still haven't told me your name, Angelic or otherwise,” he called, keeping his voice low so only Nathan could hear. “Perhaps you should leave your business card with me, in case something pertaining to Valerie comes up.”

Nathan turned back, flashing a disingenuous grin. “I very much doubt that, Mr Devereaux. From this point onwards, we won't have to see each other again.”

The Demon tutted. “You would be surprised. For such a big city as London, it always amazes me how you can run into acquaintances quite accidentally.”

Nathan didn't like the sound of that. It sounded too much like a promise.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s no such thing as ghosts.

Once a person had died, their soul went to one of three places: Heaven, Purgatory, or Hell. Despite what the bereaved may ardently wish for, the spirits of their loved ones do not linger with them, they don’t appear as apparitions or fester into malevolent spirits and cause nothing but harm to the living.

What would happen is a transference of resonance. Most places, especially homes, act as sponges. They soak up the lives of people, their emotions, their experiences, their very being until the walls practically vibrate with it. Negative experiences, hateful emotions, or just generally unpleasant people can make the space cold, uncomfortable, even watchful. It can make the short hair on the back of your neck and arms stand on end, make you heartbeat accelerate in fear, make you feel unwelcome.

Whereas positive experiences and happy emotions can make a house feel like a true welcoming home, like you have walked into sunshine.

Nate knew the moment he was shown into six C Brockwell Place six years ago that he would call it his home on Earth. It was a two bedroom apartment in the quieter, less modernised boroughs of London, a large four story Victorian house that had been recently renovated into four self contained flats and a communal back garden that was paved over for outside storage and a bike rack.

Nate had stood in the living room with the soft cream walls and large balcony windows that looked out onto a tiny veranda. It had an array of terracotta pots dripping with white and yellow daisies and a view of the leafy tops of the trees that lined the street and Nate just-

Let himself feel it all in one moment. 

It had once been a family home, the space warm and light and Nate felt the tension of the outside world leech from his newly made human flesh. London had been overwhelming on his senses, the smells, the sights, the godawful noise of it all. He had wandered for a split second if he had done the wrong thing, that he should never have left his post in Heaven, that he would never find the peace he sought for in this sprawling metropolis of cement and people.

But he had nothing to fear, of course. There was peace to be found here and all of it was his. The thick walls shut out the majority of the noise of the city, soothed his frayed nerves and the doubt that had almost broke him left him like smoke in the wind. 

A throat cleared softly behind him and he was reminded of the Angel that had brought him here. He turned to see her standing in the doorway, shuffling from one foot to the other in nervousness. She was young in Angel years, her grace like a fine mist against his skin rather than the insistent push of an older experienced Angel.

Her eyes skittered to the floor in a show of respect - or was it fear? It was hard to tell these days. “The Archangel Sandriel send his regards and his apologies for not being the one to welcome you to Earth. He was called away on urgent matters and sent me in his stead.”

The messenger was sincere in her deliverance of the message but the message and the Archangel who sent it were not. Sandriel was still sore over being ordered to take Nate into his territory and provide him with a safe place to stay while Nate healed. He had sent a young Angel in his place to show Nate his own place in the pecking order of the Angelic order on Earth.

Nate had once been Nathaniel, the Archangel of Fire. He had led his fellow Angels in the Great War, when some of his brothers fell to Hell and burned for their disobedience. Nate had taken up his sword and reduced those brothers to nothing more than ash and painful memories. 

Nate had, since the very first murder of this world, been hunting Demons in the name of God, until he thought he would drown in their blood. Until his every waking moment and those when he closed his eyes were taken up with unstoppable terrors.

Until the fallen Angel Abraxas bested him in hand to hand combat and, in vicious punishment, let Nathaniel survive but took his revenge by burning his wings beyond recognition.

And, really, what’s an Archangel without the use of his God given wings?

The simple answer: he wasn’t one. Not anymore, not without that power and certainly not now that he was unwilling to spill blood ever again.

And Sandriel, despite his jealousies, knew it. Nathaniel, now simply Nate, was on Earth to be tucked out of sight so that he didn’t do anything stupid, like get himself or any fellow Angel killed.

To be forgotten.

There was comfort in being forgotten.

Nate smiled at her and it was dazzling in its brightness. “That’s alright. Sandriel is in charge of one of the largest territories in England, he must be very busy.”

The Angel looked up from her perusal of the floor, expression breaking into a hopeful expression. “Is it to your liking then?”

Nate took another look around him and, while the smile was smaller, it was genuine. “Oh yes. I think I'll be quite happy here.”

‘Happy’ was perhaps a slight exaggeration, given to appease his guide. In the six years of being at six C Brockwell Place, the five years of being a police inspector and essentially living a human life, he had grown ever closer to being content. The violence in him had settled, the nightmares, while never entirely gone, had eased its grip on his nights. He could go weeks without dreaming of blood on white feathers. And his sword remained unused, locked in a case made of dark ash wood and hidden in the shute of the disused fireplace of the guest bedroom.

Dormant.

* * *

When Nate came back to the precinct the next day after Valarie Monroe’s suicide, he expected to be greeted by a desk covered in new reports and coloured sticky notes with phone messages, not with the Archangel of London sitting primly in Nate’s seat like he had every right to be there.

“I let him in to your office, Sir,” Jodie the floor secretary said, a look of embarrassed confusion on her pretty features. “I thought, well, it didn’t seem right to make him wait outside your office. Was that… was that okay?”

It wasn’t standard procedure to let a civilian into the office without him present and Jodie was normally a stickler for the rules. Judging by her slightly glazed expression, Nate didn’t need three guesses as to why she broke protocol and that guess was sitting in Nate’s chair with a serene smile on his smug lips. 

Nate sighed quietly. “It’s no problem, Jodie. I know him, he’s a friend.”

“Oh, good,” she said, relief making her smile. “Would you and your visitor want tea or coffee?”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you. Coffee with milk and two sugars for me please. None for my friend, he’s on one of those health kicks.”

Nate stepped into the office and shut the door, nodding to the Archangel. “Sandriel, this is a surprise. When I sent word of what had happened, I wasn’t expecting a personal visit.”

Sandriel lifted a shoulder in a graceful shrug. “When there is an incident with one of mine, I like to personally see to matters.”

An Angel’s vessel takes a swan dive out of a window by a Demon’s command and Sandriel refers to it as an  _ incident.  _

It shouldn’t be surprising, really. Sandriel was one of the first Angels to be willed into existence, and with so many eons to preside over the world, he was cold inside. Indifferent to humans, even to those of his own kind. He could play the part of a selfless benevolent Angel like it was a second skin, he could be charming and solicitous to those who needed him to be. But his eyes gave him away, at least to Nate, a glacial blue that haven’t been touched by any emotion for as long as he could remember them. 

Nate felt bereft when he made eye contact with the Archangel, as if he looked long enough, the blue would pull him in, absorb him into its nothingness. 

The driving force behind Sandriel was the war and his own importance. He had been named Archangel of the territory long before London was named so and, as far as Sandriel was concerned, he would be Archangel of the territory when London inevitably changed or was destroyed. And if anyone got in his way or threatened his position, be it Angel or Demon, they would be an enemy for life and were not long for this world or any world.

With that thought in mind, Nate should be pleased his damaged wings took him out of the running for Archangel of London. As far as Sandriel was concerned, Nate only warranted the occasional slap down to remind him of his place.

Nate would like to keep it that way, if possible.

He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hook at the back of the door. “Well, I'm not sure I can offer any more information than what I told your people last night.”

“Of course,” Sandriel said amiably, like he hadn’t expected any different. “And the human police are none the wiser to the true events of Valereal’s ejection?”

Valereal must be the name of the Angel whose vessel went by Valarie Moore. “As far as they’re concerned, it’s a suicide. A open-shut case that will be closed once the Coroner’s report has been submitted.” Nate said, wandering if he could prompt Sandriel to remove himself from the seat and Nate could sit there.

Sandriel looked like he had no intention of moving so Nate was forced to lean against the filing cabinets with his arm resting on top.

“Excellent,” Sandriel returned. “A satisfying conclusion to your enquiries. You won’t have to follow up on that company again.”

The command was uttered offhandedly, but Nate knew Sandriel, knew he said little but always directly to the point.

Sandriel didn’t want him to follow up on the company, or more specifically, on the Demon. But why? Nate needed to tread lightly with his next words. “I have no doubt that you were told of who I found there and what the Demon insinuated.”

Sandriel flicked Nate’s words away with a hand like they were nothing but annoyances. “Ridiculous, of course. They are insinuations of a bragging Demon who wishes to make a reputation for itself.” The condescension was thick in his voice and it set Nate’s teeth on edge. “You yourself know no Demon can use their persuasion on an Angel.”

Nate fought for patience. “Then how would you explain Valereal simply vacating the building through the window with dozens of witnesses who claimed she was not coerced?”

“ The Demon could have glamoured them to think that.”

Reasonable words. Nate raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying the Demon had the power to change numerous human memory at the same time? That  _ is _ impressive.”

Sandriel’s face took on a pinched expression. He was clearly displeased. “Are you calling me a liar, Nathaniel?”

Nate felt the hairs on the back of his head rise in alarm, awareness creeping along his skin as Sandriel’s grace rose to the front of the Angel’s skin. He shimmered, his eyes burning unnaturally. The power in that vessel was vast and now that Nate was no longer an Archangel, that power could incinerate him in seconds with only ash left on the air currents. 

“You are amongst humans, Sandriel,” Nate reminded him quietly, keeping his voice low and even. Don’t freak out the walking, talking bomb in the room. 

For a moment, Nate wasn’t sure if Sandriel would heed his words, that he would display his wings in an act of defiance and destroy Nate. But he didn’t. He blinked and his grace settled, his skin back to a normal flesh colour and his eyes once again that empty blue. 

Nate was able to breathe easier. 

“You were always so obstinate, Nathaniel, it is no wonder…”

Sandriel stopped himself before he went any further but the intent hung heavy in the air between them.  _ It’s no wonder you ended up with your wings damaged and you lost your place in Heaven.  _

Nate swallowed hard, reigning in his bitterness until he could hardly contain it. 

“Perhaps,” Nate acquiesced. “It hardly matters now. What I'm concerned with is that we have a Demon that can do what he can.”

“You need not  _ concern  _ yourself with such matters, that Demon is the Archdemon of the city. My counterpart. He is above your paygrade.”

Every territory had an Archangel to lead the Angels and every territory had an Archdemon to lead the demons. Like everything that God created, all must have a balance. Night and day. Good and Evil. Archangel and Archdemon. While Sandriel’s comment on paygrade was essentially correct, the intention behind it was deliberately malicious. 

Something must have shown on Nate’s face because Sandriel’s eyes widened in overt shock. “My apologies, Nathaniel. I did not intend to insult you, I merely meant that to put yourself in harms way with such a Demon and your… disability. Well,” This time he smiled an unpleasant smile. “It would be your own suicide.”

The false salaciousness wasn’t hiding a damn thing from Nate. He wasn’t worried about Nate’s well being, it would probably be in Sandriel’s best interests if Nate’s vessel was destroyed by the Demon and Nate was ejected back to Heaven and out of the Archangel’s territory.

No, what Sandriel didn’t want was Nate getting in the way of the fight between the Demon and Sandriel and claiming credit for the win.

He clearly didn’t trust Nate’s motives of retirement. That he wasn’t really retired to begin with…

“I have no intention of setting myself up against an Archdemon. As you say, with my disability he would wipe the floor with me in seconds.”

Sandriel wrinkled his nose in disapproval. “A human euphemism, I'm sure.” He stood up from the chair, straightening the cuffs of his crisp suit jacket with a flair of finality. “Well, I'm glad you have the situation under control. I’ll take my leave of you.”

Sandriel got to the office door just as Jodie opened it with a tea tray balanced in her arms. Sandriel stared at the tray of sugar and caffeine before looking back at Nate with a pained grimace. “Really?”

“You need to live a little,” Nate returned with a little grin, enjoying the Archangel’s discomfort at such vice. “Or else, what’s the point of being on Earth?”

“A slippery slope, my friend,” Sandriel said before sailing from the room.

Jodie looked down at her tray with a frown. “What’s wrong with a little bit of sugar?”

Nate shrugged before taking his cup of coffee from her tray. “To some, it’s like making deals with Devils.”

* * *

After the paperwork was finally cleared off of his desk and on their way to filing, Nate spent the rest of the day chasing a crack addict informer around London and made an arrest of a fifty year old streaker who treated the recorded interview as a Catholic confessional of his ardent desires and now Nate felt like he needed to scrub his brain with bleach.

On top of the visit from Sandriel that morning, it hadn’t been the best of days.

When he left the office, it was close to nine in the evening. The orange glow of the streetlamps caught on the droplets of rain that had continued since early afternoon. The temperature had dropped, causing Nate’s breath to mist in the air like cigarette smoke. The prospect of going home to then stand on aching feet at a stove and cook his lacklustre meal that would probably be slop didn’t appeal to him. So he did what he usually did on a Tuesday night.

He headed to the Chinese takeaway that was on route to his flat. As a rule he didn’t eat meat, cute furry animals were better alive than on someone’s plate, but the silver dragon takeaway did a fantastic vegetable chow mein. 

Inside the shop it was warm and dry with seats against the front window for customers waiting on their orders. Nate ordered and sat down with one of the free newspapers that was about five days old, contemplating seven down and six across on the crossword puzzle when the front door opened, the little bell chiming.

There was no one else in the shop but Nate so it surprised him when the other person sat in the seat to his immediate left. There were six seats available and British etiquette dictated that you should sit with at least one space between you and the stranger if it could be helped.

The surprise made him glance up briefly, only to do a double take when he realised it was Aeron who was sat there in his expensive suit and long black wool coat that fit him like a glove. His head was cocked to the side, staring at the crossword puzzle in Nate’s lap.

“Carbine,” The Demon murmured.

Nate blinked. “Excuse me?”

Aeron reached out and dragged his long finger across one of the empty boxes, like a caress. Nate tried not to flinch away from it. “Carbine,” He repeated. “Is the answer to two down and seven across.”

Numbly, Nate scribbled the word in without really checking if it was right or not. “Er, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he returned, like this was something they both did everyday. Like it was normal for an Angel and a Demon to be sat in a Chinese takeaway while filling in a crossword puzzle together.

Which it most definitely wasn’t.

Nate snapped the paper shut and folded it up to rest on his knees. He stared at Aeron who had raised his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

The Demon smiled. “I imagine I'm here for the same thing you are, Inspector. I’m hungry and they do a delicious beef in black bean sauce.”

“And you just so happen to stroll into the same one I use at the exact same time I would happen to be here I suppose? What a coincidence.”

Which, when Nate really thought about it, was pretty alarming. It would mean that the Demon was keeping tabs on him and Nate didn’t know about it. The whole day he had not felt a single Demonic presence in his vicinity. 

Either Nate was getting rusty and had missed the signs, or the Demon - Archdemon - and his puppets could get around without Nate sensing them. Both options made Nate sit up straighter in his seat and his shaking hand rest against his hip where his standard issue firearm was safely holstered.

The move didn’t go unnoticed by Aeron. His eyes went half lidded and he smiled. “What do you suppose you are going to do with that, Nathan Danvers? Do you think bullets can do anything against a Demon? Rookie mistake.”

The sound of his name on the Demon’s lips made his insides twist in apprehension. “You know my name.”

Aeron leaned back in his seat, the length of his shoulders widening and Nate was painfully aware of their physical differences while sat next to him. He was half a head taller and wider than Nate. Not even the coat could hide the muscle tone beneath the clothes. He was long and lithe, meaning he knew how to use it rather than for show. He must outweigh Nate by a good thirty pounds.

Nate seriously doubted he could overpower him if it came down to it and for the first time in a long time, Nate felt true fear.

“Now you’re being obtuse,” Aeron teased lightly. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t find out about the unknown Angel that stepped into my office without a care in the world, did you?” He laughed lowly. “Of course I did, Inspector. It made for interesting reading.”

“And what did you read about me that you found so interesting?” Nate asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“A great many things,” the Demon replied, far too pleased with himself. “You’ve been a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard for the past five years, your records say you were transferred from Manchester where you were a constable for the past eight years. We both know that little titbit is for the benefit of the humans who might take a longer look into your background. As you don’t appear anywhere else, I’m going to make the assumption that you came to Earth just before you became an Inspector.” Those eyes gleamed at him. “A newly minted Earthen Angel, it must have been staggering for you.”

“It’s staggering for all of us,” Nate dismissed, not liking where this was going. “What’s your point?”

Aeron held his hands up in a placating gesture that was laughable to see. “No point at all. I’m merely trying to understand the part you play in all of this.”

Ah. Of course, how quaint. “You are referring to the war between you and Sandriel, and whether I’m a spy.”

The Demon inclined his head. “I admit, when I showed your likeness to other Demons and enquired about an Angel on the police force, they all had no knowledge of you. I began to think maybe you were telling the truth as you say.”

“Telling the truth is what an Angel does, after all,” Nate pointed out bemusedly.

“How conscientious of you,” Aeron said, the teasing now turned to mocking. “Your brethren have no such qualms about bending it and, I wager, neither do you.”

Nate sighed in exasperation. “Are you really going to make me repeat myself?”

“Are you really going to deny you had a visit from Sandriel this morning?” Aeron countered.

Well, now Nate knew for definite that he was being spied on. He desperately wanted to question him on those who are doing the spying, how could they evade his senses, but he didn’t dare in case the answer was more mocking. In case the spies were really just puppets and nothing was ever special about them. He would have given an Archdemon his shortcomings on a platter.

Nate bit back the burning questions and focused on the Demon. “That’s none of your business, Demon.”

“Please Inspector, call me Aeron. And when an Archangel is busy plotting, I like to make it my business.”

He wasn’t going to let this theory go, Nate could tell. “What do you think he was there for after one of his own destroyed her vessel in front of human witnesses? Sandriel wanted to make sure the case will be closed without any Angelic intervention.”

Aeron sneered. “How magnanimous of him. But I hardly think it warrants him coming here himself.”

“As you say, it was magnanimous of him.” Nate said. There was no way on this green Earth he was going to say anymore on the matter.

They both stared each other down, willing the other to look away first. The Demon’s stare was considering and that damnable smile was gone. “Perhaps you are telling the truth and you have nothing to do with mine and Sandriel’s war. Perhaps you are just a detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, bravely staunching the spread of Demonic Persuasion on the humans.”

“It is as I said all along,” Nate persisted.

“It doesn’t explain why you would leave the protection of Sandriel and live amongst humans,” The Demon mused.

Nate nearly choked on his breath. “How- how could you possibly know that?” 

Aeron’s eyes stayed on Nate’s face. “I know you live in six C Brockwell place, it says so in your employment record. As to you you forgoing Sandriel’s protection? I didn’t, until now.”

Meaning Nate had played into his hands like a complete bumbling idiot.

Aeron stood up in one fluid motion, his hands buttoning up his coat. “Being without an Archangel’s protection is a precarious position, particularly in a city such as London. There are so many possibilities that could lead to harm for you that I couldn’t name them all.”

Nate stared up at the Demon with narrowed eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

“I don’t need to threaten you, Nathan. I’m sure you are already well aware of the dangers, especially now that you are known to us. It would be in your best interest if you carried on with your police work and stay out of the game.”

Nate watched him head for the door and paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at Nate. The light of the streetlamps outside flared in his eyes, turning them a colour that looked a lot like blood. “I can’t help but wonder what would cause an Angel to forgo protection and the comforts that go with it for a life lived amongst the humans. You are certainly a conundrum, Inspector.”

Nate was saved from scrabbling for a reply as the Demon didn’t wait around for one. He left the shop and crossed the road to a waiting dark Mercedes. The driver got out and opened the back passenger door for him before they drove away, leaving Nate cold and decidedly not hungry anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

The vegetable chow mein was left on the kitchen counter, now cold and congealing, still in its plastic tub. Having lost his appetite, Nate had left it there as he had taken off his coat and shoes, loosened his slate grey tie to undo the top button of his shirt. He stood in the middle of the living room, staring out of the balcony windows and seeing nothing.

Instead he was focused inwards, playing the conversation he had with the Demon over and over in his mind like he would when he spoke to potential suspects in the interview room at the precinct. Every gesture recorded, the tone of voice used, the words chosen. It was all broken down and inspected before he put it all back together and he played it over again.

It was a threat. It had to be, or why else would the Demon pay him a visit in the first place? And in such a dramatic fashion as he had, to prove that he could?

It  _ was  _ a threat and the Archdemon wanted to make a show of it, of proving his superiority of knowing about Nate’s background on Earth, that he could and  _ will _ have him followed, that he knew exactly where Nate lived. That he didn’t have Sandriel’s protection to fall back on.

He could get Nate any time he wanted to destroy his vessel and send Nate back to Heaven-

No. Never again. Nate wasn’t going back there, back to the nightmares, not without putting up a fight. He wouldn’t seek Sandriel out or ask for his protection.

Nate balked at the very idea. He could just picture Sandriel’s triumphant face as he asked him, Sandriel would have Nate on his knees in front of all the Angels belonging to London, benevolent in the face of Nate’s capitulation. The Archangel would ask for everything left of Nate’s honour and dignity in return for what he graciously offered.

He wouldn’t do it.  _ He wouldn’t. _

The options were few and it all came down to Nate himself. He had to protect himself as no one else would do it. 

Nate went back into the kitchen, opened the cutlery drawer and drew out a serrated knife. He turned to the top cupboard and pulled out a soup bowl. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, Nate passed the sharp edge across his forearm, carefully, so as not to hit any major blood vessels. The pain was clean and Nate was mindful to let it trickle into the bowl. Once he considered the amount sufficient for what he was about to do, he held his hand over the cut and let his grace warm the skin. He pulled his hand back and saw the cut had healed and had left a pink mark of newly healed skin.

He took the bowl and went to the front door of the flat. Dipping two fingers into the blood, Nate used it to draw the Angelic rune for protection on the white surface, whispering a fervent prayer at the same time. When the lines were connected they glowed with Angelic power until, when he finished, they glowed brighter until the blood and power was absorbed into the door and no trace of it was left. 

He repeated the same rune and prayer on all the windows and finally on the floors. It took a while, making sure there could be no room for error, until finally it was done. The whole apartment hummed with the energy and Nate could breathe easy again. It felt like the heat of a bright summer’s day despite it now being well into the cool days of Autumn.

There was only one thing left to do now. He went into the guest room and knelt by the disused fireplace, pushing a hand up into the shute, his fingers touching a long heavy box and he pulled it out carefully to rest in front of him on the floor. He let his hand caress the cool surface, felt the answering hum of power. It was like greeting an old friend.

An old friend that carried the weight of the world with it.

His hand paused at the silver clasps that would unlock it. All it would take was a flick of his fingers and the case would open, displaying the silver edge of his Angelic sword for him to see.

Not yet, he thought. It was a last resort. If they attempt to take him by surprise they would burst through the new wards on the flat and meet the edge of his sword.

But not yet.

* * *

_ The heat bit deeper than any Nathaniel had ever endured since he came into being. This was the fire of the blackest pit, of the punishment that his fallen brethren were inflicted with for eternity, and sought to spread it to those who stayed true to Heaven. _

_ His eyes felt like they were gummed shut. It took a great effort to prise them open. His hand passed over his brow and eyes and they came away slicked with blood.  _

_ Nathaniel blinked through the double vision and focused on the broken stained glass window pieces beside him on the dark polished wooden floor of - a church? Rain blew in through the shattered arches, soaking his skin and making a tinny sound as it hit his armour. The scent in his nose was beyond horrible, sulphur and something burning. It left a bad taste in his mouth and he swallowed convulsively. _

_ What is burning? _

_ Every muscle, every fissure of his being, ached fiercely as if he had been beaten. Had he? Recollection fluttered at the edge of his fire addled mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. _

_ Why was he in a church? _

_ He tried to sit up, to take stock of his surroundings, but his body refused to obey. Exhaustion hollowed out his bones, the vital spark of his grace was all but drained to the very last drop. He could barely feel it inside of him and his heart laboured as panic crept in - What had happened to him? _

_ Memory offered up a triumphant laugh, light catching the edge of a sword made of obsidian, a smile full of teeth filed to sharp points.  _

_ Abraxas, Demon of the Pits. _

_ And then fire, fire licking at his face, at his armour, boiling him alive -  _

_ Nathaniel managed to turn his head, the movement causing agony to sing down his back and through the cartilage of his wings. Broken furniture, shattered pews, religious crosses melted into smoking lumps of charred gold, the canvases of St Michael torn off the walls and shredded to lay like stripped rags on the floor.  _

_ It had been a fight, Abraxas had been tormenting the priest for months until he was on the brink of insanity. Nathaniel had intervened for the priest’s soul and Abraxas hadn’t taken too kindly to the intervention and he had laid waste to the church. _

_ With monumental effort, he gathered what little strength he had left and rolled onto his side, away from the window. _

_ The priest’s face lay inches from his own. Glassy eyes stared at the ceiling and a congealed line of blood leaked from his eyes, mouth and nose. _

_ Dead. _

_ It was only then that Nathaniel registered where that burning stench was coming from. It was his wings,  _ his wings! _ , spread out beneath him and the priest. They were once pure white, spanning the length of a room and strong, so strong. They had been beautiful. But now they were blackened, fire incinerating the feathers to nothing more than ash. Muscle, cartilage and bone was now a bloody broken mess. _

_ Ruined. _

_ Nathaniel opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. _

* * *

“Are you alright, Sir? You look a little preoccupied.”

Nate glanced up from his laptop screen and peered across his desk at Harri sitting in the opposite chair, her eyebrows raised in enquiry.

He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness of being hunched over for close to an hour. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “I didn't have a very good night’s sleep last night. Words are blurring together.”

It wasn’t an outright lie, either. Placing the wards on his home may have exhausted him, but it didn’t bring a fitful night's sleep as had hoped. He had stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows grow and recede until the early hours of the morning and sleep finally claimed him.

But that didn’t have him squinting at the laptop screen and ignoring Harri and her progress report on the Stefano narcotics case. What was so distracting was the website he was reading, particularly the profile portfolio page of one particular pain in his ass of late.

Aeron Devereaux, the CEO of Cambridge Associates. It displayed all the very impressive University qualifications the Demon certainly didn’t have, a lot of letters before his name and a professional photograph of Aeron staring at him with a serious expression.

It didn’t do the evil glint in his eyes any justice, Nate thought savagely.

Nate had no idea why he even bothered to look Aeron up on the internet, it wasn’t like the profile was going to read ‘Aeron Devereaux, Archdemon of London. Perverse corruptor of innocent souls and blasphemer of all that is Holy’.

Nate felt wrong footed, Aeron knew far more about him than Nate knew of the Demon. Without sounding like a petulant child, it was unfair to be so in the dark. It wasn’t like he could go to anyone with his questions. Sandriel had already warned him off and would not be forthcoming with any answers. The same goes for any Angel in the London territory as they would all report back to Sandriel.

He was working with little intel and hoping for the best outcome.

Nate had no knowledge of what the Demon was capable of, how many Demons were under Aeron’s command, how he even operated. And the more Nate thought of that thinly veiled threat to stick to his police work while Aeron goes about doing God knows what and watching Nate like some voyeur, the more Nate became restless and so very angry.

Over the six years of being on Earth, Nate had grown to being sure of his place here. Secure. Safe. But now all of that was long gone and in its place was uncertainty and a future of always looking over his shoulder for some sort of retribution. 

“Burning the wick at both ends, Sir? That’s not good for you,” Harri said sagely, bringing Nate back to the here and now. “Particularly as you’re always a grouch when you don’t get your beauty sleep.”

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out,” Nate said with amusement, forcing himself to shut the Cambridge Associates website tab down. He breathed easier with those eyes no longer peering at him from the screen. “So just abbreviate what you said to me again.”

“Is that your way of telling me I'm too long winded?”

“Less cheek, more action.”

Harri’s sigh was long suffering, but she didn’t put up too much of a fight. Nate found himself slipping into restless mode and his mind once again wandering without his permission. Ignoring the problem wasn’t working, not unless he wants Harri to think there was a bigger problem.

Something had to give.

* * *

This was a very bad idea, Nate knew this in the pit of his stomach, but it still didn’t stop him from calling an early lunch and heading across the city to the corporation’s building.

But that little voice in his head screaming warnings couldn’t override the great need to confront the situation and what better way to do that than on the Demon’s own territory, even the playing field a bit.

Despite Nate’s earlier presumptions that the security guards would stop him at the door for the shabbiness of his coat, he had no problem getting through the revolving doors. He half expected to immediately be besieged by Demons, under the orders of their boss to rough him up and kick him back out the door.

But no Demonic presence swooped across the foyer. What he did see was the front desk and the same receptionist who showed him up to the crime scene.

Upon seeing him, she smiled in greeting. “Good afternoon Inspector. I didn’t think I would see you here again.”

Nate shrugged. “Yeah, well, neither did I. I’m here to see your boss, Mr Devereaux.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but it’s something that can’t wait.” He assured her.

“Let me see what I can do,” she said as she turned to her computer, her hands tapping at the keys as she frowned at what was on the screen. “He’s in a meeting with the other Board Members at the moment. I can show you to our waiting room and he’ll be down to see you the moment he finishes?” she offered. 

“I only have a short time,” he told her apologetically, catching her eyes and putting the weight of his influence behind it. Her watched as her pupils dilate as it caught. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I interrupted them. After all, it is an urgent matter. Very important that I see him now.”

She smiled benignly. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea…”

Nate’s smile grew wider. “Mr Devereaux will make an exception for me, I promise.” He cajoled, the tether on her will growing stronger. Even if he doesn’t like it…

“You’re probably right. You are the police, after all.” She went to stand from her seat. “I can show you the way.”

“Is it the same floor as the one you showed me last time?”

“Yes, the conference room is just off the main cubicles on the left hand side.”

He waved her away. “I can find my way, no need to put yourself out for me.”

She blinked at him, freezing mid movement. “Ah, Inspector, it’s probably best -”

“Thank you for all your help,” he said and before she could think twice, he was at the lift and the door was shut behind him. Pressing the button for the fourteenth floor, he rode it all the way up without anyone else getting on, which suited him just fine. The doors opened and he was confronted with a much different scene from the last time he was there.

It was a bustling work environment, people talking in the phones, others flitting between workstations with messages and thick envelopes. As he stepped off the lift, no one so  much as glanced in his direction. 

He followed the hallway past the hubbub to the end where double doors stood and glass panelled walls showed what was a conference room. Nate could see the large table in the middle of the room with important looking men and women seated around it, all focused on the man standing at the front, speaking and pointing at a growth chart that was being projected onto the white wall behind him.

Nate watched as the man stopped speaking mid-sentence, a look of fleeting surprise passing over his face, before he turned his head and stared directly at Nate.

Buoyed by the fact that he had taken Aeron off guard (Something that Nate would relish after the fact), he stepped up to the glass as his hand went to the pocket of his coat. The Demon’s eyes tracked the movement, as if he was wondering if Nate would draw his gun like he planned to at the takeaway, but Nate wasn’t completely unhinged.

He drew out his wallet, flipped it open and pressed his police badge against the glass so that the whole room could see it. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the conference room doors, making it obvious that he wanted to speak to him.

The others seated were glancing between them, unsure of what was happening and what a policeman would want with one of their own. The Demon, on the other hand, was remarkably composed. Save for the flash of surprise earlier, he now acted like an Inspector turning up at his door was a regular occurrence.

Who knew, maybe it was.

Aeron turned back to the board members, looking apologetic as he spoke to them. Nodding, they all stood up and filed out of the room, sending him haughty looks of disdain before heading off to wherever people with obscene amounts of money loiter. 

After the last one had left, Nate caught the door before it closed and stepped into the room. Aeron was leaning back against the edge of the table with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking at ease. 

“I have to admit, I wasn't expecting to see you so soon, if at all. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Nate didn’t even hesitate. “I want you to back off, for a start,” his tone of voice not doing anything to hide the anger he was riding. 

The Demon gazed back steadily. “Oh? To what are you referring to?”

Nate couldn’t stop himself. He stepped closer to him and pointed a finger at his chest, just shy of brushing the fabric. “You know exactly what I'm referring to. You’re keeping tabs on me, having your minions follow me around, threatening me like it was your right and i’m just going to take it.”

“I’m a Demon, of course it’s my right. God given, in fact.”

Nate didn’t see him move. One moment he had his arms crossed, the next he was gripping Nate’s hand in his larger one. The hold didn’t hurt, but it was firm. It drew Nate up short and he looked up at Aeron’s face, mouth opening in protest.

His face was one of hunger, of sheer delight, like Nate had done something to please him and he wanted more of it. 

“There’s that righteous fury you Angels have in you,” he crooned. “You’re burning up with it.”

Nate tried to pull his hand away, to put space between them as the air grew heavy with anticipation, but Aeron kept his hold on him, unrelenting. 

“Get your hands off me,” Nate hissed through his teeth.

The hand tightened. “Or what?”

“Or this.”

Nate’s grace acted to the situation and his fight or flight instinct and it sent blue lightning dancing up Aeron’s hand and arm. Nate had his back to the glass and the other cubicles, blocking any human’s view of what was happening. 

It should have burned the Demon, made him yowl in pain, but he stood there with a grimace as he endured it. He kept eye contact with Nate, holding on to the hand for one second, two seconds, three, before he finally dropped it.

Nate immediately backed away, shaking his hand out while keeping his gaze on Aeron warily. “Thank you,” he said primly.

“Pretty little light show,” Aeron mused. “Do you also do children’s birthday parties?”

“It made you let go, didn’t it?” Nate pointed out. “And I would appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself.” 

“Do you often lie to yourself?” Aeron asked, straightening the cuffs of his shirt so nonchalantly. “That reaction seemed overdramatic for the situation.”

Nate opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. All that would lead to was arguing in circles and Demons were particularly good at that. “I want to make this abundantly clear to you, so there could be no error or misjudgement.”

“You have my undivided attention.” He assured Nate. 

Of that, Nate was in no doubt. “You’re going to stop following me, or pull whoever you have tracking me and reporting back to you. I won’t be spied on, not by Sandriel and certainly not by you. Do you understand? I just want to get on with my job and not have to dodge threats from you and your minions.”

Aeron considered Nate for a moment. “And what do I get in return for such unprecedented leniency on an enemy?”

That pulled Nate up short. “Leniency?” He demanded incredulously. 

“Of course,” Aeron said, turning to stare out of the windows to London below. “I can’t let you wander my territory without knowing what you do. After all, you shirk the protection of your Archangel, you willingly admit you are a free agent. Who knows what you could get up to behind my back.”

Unbelievable. “I still abide my Angelic law, I cannot break the rules anymore than you can break Demonic law.”

“Be that as it may, I have a reputation to uphold. Letting a rogue agent do as he pleases would be considered incompetent at best, sheer idiocy at worse.”

Nate levelled him with an unimpressed look. “I’ve been here doing the same thing for the past six years, why does it matter now?”

Aeron turned back to him, those eyes appearing bottomless. “But now I know you’re here, in my territory and I can't let that go.”

_ I can’t let you go. _

He made it sound like a promise and Nate felt chills run down his spine. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he said, “I mean it, Aeron. If I find out that you’ve been trailing me, I will make sure I bury you in police politics that you wish you never knew I was here.”

Nate didn’t wait for a response. He fled the building at breakneck speed.


	4. Chapter 4

Nate stared in horror at the box that sat on his work desk, like it was a time bomb, ticking those last few seconds before it incinerated everything in a four street radius.

It was a beautiful glossy baby blue cardboard box with gold lettering stamped on top in sweeping calligraphy: Sweetie pies. The name of the High End bakery that had stunning delicate cream filled pastries in their window.

Nate would pass it, stare at all the delights with frank wanting, before the price tag made him recoil and he had to force himself away from salivating at the shop front like an idiot.

And now one of their boxes was sitting innocently on his desk, siren calling from across the room with its faint scent of warm butter and sugar.

Nate backpedalled out of the room and nearly crashed into Jodie who was bringing him the files on a larceny case in the downtown SoHo area. “Er, Jodie, any chance you would know anything about that box?”

Jodie looked at him in confusion. “What box?”

Nate pointed. “That box.”

Jodie peered past his shoulder and when her eyes alighted on said box, she immediately beamed. “It's from Sweetie pies!”

“Yes, I got that,” he said, not taking his own eyes off of it. “But what’s it doing on my desk?”

Jodie grinned up at him. “It’s for you, silly. It came in this morning, delivered by the shop itself. It comes with a little gift cards as well, it should still be inside the box as long as none of this lot hasn’t tampered with it.”

Nate was suddenly aware of the eyes of all the precinct were on him in growing anticipation. They were all pretending to be busy at their work stations, but all heads were craning over their computer screens and reports and watching the scene unfold before them.

“Since when did you start ordering fancy cakes, Sir?” Jacobs called from the back of the room, a smirk on his lips. “Or is it a gift from a new lover you forgot to tell us about?”

“I don’t remember ever appraising you of my personal life, Jacobs,” Nate fired back amidst snickers from the others.

“Aww, you’re no fun, Sir,” Jacobs grouches back good-naturedly. 

“Is it from a new girlfriend?” Jodie whispers to him so the other couldn’t overhear them. “I hope its someone special to you, get you out of being a bachelor.”

“What’s wrong with being a bachelor? I think it suits me.”

Jodie shook her head and then shrugged. “Nothing is wrong with it, per say. A lot of men stay bachelors and prefer it. It's just, sometimes I get the impression that you’re a little lonely.”

Nate looked at her, surprised. “You think I'm lonely?”

Jodie smiled to soften her next words. “A little? There are times when I catch you when you think no one is looking and you just look… sad. Lonely.”

Nate was speechless. He had never considered himself to be lonely. The opposite, in fact. He had sought out this seclusion from his brothers, after all. But lonely? Humans had the oddest assumptions, sometimes.

Jodie bumped her shoulder with his. “But whoever bought you those cakes must like you a lot. It shows there is someone in your life outside the precinct.”

Nate looked back at the cake box, nonplussed. He didn’t have anyone in his life who would have thought to buy him fancy cakes. He didn’t. Unless…

No. No way. He wouldn’t.

Nate coughed, suddenly embarrassed. “Right. Well, got to get on with the day.” He said briskly as he took the offered files with a nod of thanks and shut his office door on everyone who were still being nosey. 

Nate slid the files onto the desk and took a hesitant step towards the box, eyeing it like it would rear up and strike him.

It could be a trap.

A trap in the form of delicious pastries, but still a trap. Nate stood in front of it, looking at it for a moment before raising a hand and using the tips of his fingers to lift the lid inch by inch and braised himself.

Nothing happened. No explosion, no hiss of poisonous gas, just a fleeting glimpse of something shiny and red. Hi heart leapt, was it blood-

He flipped the lid back, revealing the contents within and he stared. Most definitely not blood, but a mini fruit tart with glossy strawberries, raspberries and blueberries artfully arranged in pale yellow custard crème on a golden crust cup base. But that wasn’t all. There was a chocolate éclair with edible gold leaf in a swirling pattern in the thick cocoa on top and a slice of what looked to be a fluffy Victoria sponge with pearl red jam and curls of white chocolate.

Angels often didn’t care much about food other than it was sustenance to sustain their human vessels, but Nate was different. He enjoyed the taste of food and the cakes made his mouth water with the wanting.

Nestled spied a little envelope with his name on it nestled between the cakes. Plucking it out, he opened the envelope to see a cream card stock with  _ ‘A peace offering - Aeron’  _ written on it along with a telephone number in cursive writing. Nate couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but he was willing to bet Aeron had written it himself. Which would mean, logically, he had picked the cakes out himself.

Definitely a trap.

Without thinking too much on it, Nate programmed the phone number in his mobile and rang it. The Demon picked up after three rings. 

“Do you like them?”

“Are they poisoned?” Nate countered. 

Aeron laughed, the sound travelling across the phone line like a rumble of sound. “If I was going to poison you, I wouldn’t ruin such sweet food by doing it. They are poison free if you ignore what nutritionists say about refined sugar.”

Nate bent his head to the box and took a deep breath, picking out all the components of the contents. He couldn’t detect any foreign element, but then again he wasn’t well acquainted with the different types of poison. “Am I to take your word on that?”

“Do you need more reassurances? How about this: If I were to kill you, I would do it face to face so I can see your true form and revel in your ascension to Heaven. Is that better for you?” The Demon purred.

Nate blinked and then sat down in his chair with a huff of breath. Aeron was so frank that he couldn’t help but take him for his word. It sounded exactly what an Archdemon would do. “Yeah, alright. You’ve convinced me. But it still begs the question as to why you would send me cakes in the first place?”

“As you have my phone number, I can only assume you have read the note.”

“Oh, I read it. A peace offering, you wrote. After all that spiel about not letting the wayward Angel go and all that. Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.” Nate said sarcastically. 

“What I said to you when you came to my office still stands true,” Aeron said.

Nate snorted inelegantly.

“But I should have put it to you in a more calmer manner. I was not in control of myself and your Angelic display merely encouraged me.”

“Encouraged you?” Nate spluttered incredulously. “How could it have possibly encouraged you?”

“Angels and Demons have a particular explosive reaction to each other, wouldn’t you agree?” Aeron said amiably, and Nate didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling.

Understatement of the Millennia, but it was undeniably true. “So how is this in any way a peace offering?”

“You’re right, perhaps ‘peace offering’ wasn’t the right word choice. Perhaps what I mean is that we should come to an understanding.”

“And what type of understanding are you suggesting?”

“You know, for an Angel, you are remarkably distrustful of other people’s intent. Perhaps you were traumatised in the past? Were you betrayed by a close friend? Understandable.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe it's because s Demon seems set on bargaining with me?”

“I’m not in the habit of making bargains, too cliché. But I am not averse to negotiations when it suits me.” Aeron assured. 

“Please, negotiate away. I am all ears.”

“I can’t let you go about London without at least keeping tabs on you.” Aeron said, voice firm yet soft at the same time. Nate was about to protest but the Demon beat him to it. “Put yourself in Sandriel’s shoes, the Archangel of London who is sworn to God to keep the peace and counter Demonic influence in Humans. What would you do if you came across a Demon in the police force, one you knew nothing about, who had the potential to bring about a lot of chaos to your side and Humans alike. Would you let them do as they pleased simply because they said so?”

Nate wanted to argue against it, but in reality, he couldn’t. It went against the order of things, the order on Earth that kept both Demonic and Angelic influence on humans in balance and didn’t start an all out war that would have Humans caught between them. The thought made his throat close up, his hand tremble on the phone.

No more war. He couldn’t bear it.

“Fine.”

There was a weighty pause on the other end of the line. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine, I see your point.” Nate said grudgingly. “So what do you plan to do about it?”

“I must admit, I was expecting more of a fight from you. You are completely incompetent at negotiating.” Aeron mused.

“Not really. I just know you won’t budge on the subject, so what’s the point of wasting my breath? The manner in which I’m to be watched is most definitely up for negotiation.”

“To business, then. You will be monitored like any other Angel in this city. Without you knowing and everything will be reported directly to me.”

“Not my home.”

“You do not reside with the other Angels, I have to monitor your home,” Aeron pointed out.

“That’s not what I'm saying. You know where I live, you monitor my comings and goings, but none of you are allowed inside the building, especially inside my home. It’s mine. I’ll consider it a threat if you do.”

Nate knew he was giving himself away by the stress in his voice at the thought of intruders. It was a sore point with him and he was broadcasting that to the enemy but he couldn’t help it, he  _ wouldn’t _ help it.

Aeron didn’t speak for a long moment, clearly weighing the pros and cons before he spoke. “See? Now that’s negotiating. You have my word no Demon will enter your home.”

What was the worth of a Demon’s word? “Thank you.”

“Unless you break your word and become a spy for Sandriel, in which case it's all fair game.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t give you my word I wouldn’t do so.”

Aeron hmmed. “Then I would have your word, as assurance of course,” he said, which sounded suspiciously like an order. 

“Are you giving me orders?”

“You could call it that, yes. No assurance from you, then no promise from me and my own spies might get a little overzealous in their house monitoring.”

No need to tell him twice. “Well, I can't rightly refuse you then, can I? I give you my word that I won’t be Sandriel’s pawn in your games. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Aeron replied and he sounded it. “It seems, against the odds, we have come to an understanding.”

“Wonderful,” Nate enthused. “Oh and Aeron. If you so much as plant a Demon in my police force under my nose, I will incinerate them and post their ashes to you in a doggie bag.”

“Now you sound like a Demon.” Aeron said with obvious delight and Nate hung up on him without replying.

He had just negotiated with a Demon. He was not completely unaware of the slippery slope he would be taking in this manner. If Sandriel caught wind that that conversation had taken place, the Archangel would not hesitate in punishing him, maybe even name him as a betrayer of his kind. Nate’s position was precarious at the best of times, he had isolated himself from other Angels to get away from the war and Angelic politics. And now he was in the web of the ArchDemon, giving his word to keep himself out of their feud. 

He was going to have to step very carefully from now on, or else he could lose everything he had worked on since coming to Earth. Get sent back to Heaven and resume his position as a soldier.

Never.

Shaking the macabre thoughts off, Nate reached for the éclair and took a giant bite out of it and moaned as it practically melted in his mouth. 

No point in letting it go to waste.

* * *

In the Church of St Paul at old Gateshead, London, there is a seventeenth century mural that takes up a whole wall. On it is a party of Noblemen out for a day’s hunting. They are elegantly dressed in close-fitting doublets and fashionably pointed shoes. To the left a hound starts after a hare that has just broken cover. Two of the three noblemen have their heads turned at the movement and this is where they see a ghastly sight.

Three grinning skeletons, each taller than the height of a man and shrouded in tattered mourning veils. Each of the apparitions had its head turned to the nobles and their arms raised to greet them. The contrasts between the two groups could not be greater, the macabre and the elegance. But they were one and the same, the mural was made to be a moral lesson. One day you will die, regardless of your station in life. Viewers are reminded of the emptiness of worldly pleasures and to prepare for death and Judgement. 

Nate had always considered it a morbid picture, hanging over the congregation, inescapable. It was the second time he had viewed this particular mural, but he was pretty sure that it didn’t have giant penises spray painted on to each of the noble’s foreheads the last time he was here.

“It’s going to cost thousands for conservationists to put this right!” The Priest blustered, his face getting steadily redder and redder as he gestured at the graffiti, the red paint almost matching the colour of his skin. “Thousands!”

“Does the Church have insurance for such… incidents like this?” Nate asked, squinting up at the mural as Harri was busy taking down notes with a barely concealed smirk. Penises never failed to bring the childishness out in even the most serious of people, it seemed.

“That’s besides the point,” the Priest drew himself up, glowering at Nate like Nate had laughed at his misfortune. “This should never have happened in the first place. I have told the police time and time again that we’ve had youths loiter on our grounds. Now look what they’ve done!”

Nate looked to Harri, eyebrows raised in question. 

She shrugged. “Loitering isn’t exactly a criminal offense, sir. We’ve had our Constables ask them to move on and they did so.”

Nate nodded. “Without cause, we can’t go arresting every teenager just because they’re bored and stand around in groups. Our Constables did what they were allowed to do within the boundaries of the law.”

“You can still say that in the face of this- this desecration?” The Priest demanded as he unnecessarily pointed at the mural, like Nate wasn’t taking it in properly. “They did this to my Church!”

“Do you have witnesses that would corroborate your assertions?” Nate asked. 

“I don’t need witnesses,” he grumbled. “They’re out there wearing black and sporting satanic symbols, all the while laughing at me, like the little bastards they are.”

Nate coughed. “Language, father. You’re in the House of our Lord.”

“God would forgive me in this instance,” the Priest said. “But I'll get you proof. I had cameras installed on the outside walls, it was supposed to be a deterrent to thieves. It’ll have them coming in here to do the deed on film. You’ll see.”

“We’ll get a copy of the tape,” Nate assured him. “Detective Khalif will take your statement and we’ll file the appropriate report.” 

Nate nodded to Harri before he walked away, passing forensics who were taking pictures for evidence, and out the Church door to the outside. The Church had its own cemetery and green grounds, but beyond that the city loomed. London was an interesting city where the old and the new blended together into a whole.

Nate stood at the door, breathing in the fresh air. His hands were by his side, fists clenched and trembling. It took a concerted effort to force himself to relax and uncurl his fingers. It was… difficult, being inside a Church, amongst all the symbols of God, and not think of the past and everything that came with it.

It was only when Nate had started down the steps towards the gate that he realised he was being watched. Eyes flickering around, Nate spotted five teenage boys across the street, leaning against the brick wall of a corner shop and sharing a cigarette. 

They were dressed in black with rock band logos on their hoodies, just like the Priest said, except one of the boys wasn’t a boy at all. 

He was a Demon. 

He stood in the middle of the group, long limbed and rail thin, his growth spurts far outstripping his metabolism. He had dark hair, pale skin and a cherubic face that belonged on the wall of the Church he had desecrated.

Not by his own hand, though. Demons couldn’t enter the House of the Lord, couldn’t step foot on consecrated ground without feeling the agony of the damned. 

What this Demon did was whisper sweet nothings into the ears of the four human boys, letting his power manipulate them into thinking it was such a good idea by smearing graffiti of dicks on Church walls as a big fuck you to the Lord Almighty. 

_ I wonder how many evil points that got you in Hell.  _

Nate’s and the Demon’s eyes met and, in the mid afternoon light, the Demon’s eyes glinted like a cat’s would in the beam of a flashlight. 

The Demon grinned, held up the cigarette between his fingers in a mocking form of a salute, before taking a drag from it. The other chortled obediently. 

Nate crossed the road to them, all the while maintaining eye contact with the Demon. He stayed stubbornly relaxed without a care in the world, while the others postured nervously. Nate stopped in front of them, fished out his police badge to flash at them, before he beamed a smile. “You boys wouldn’t happen to know who did the graffiti work in the Church, would you?”

“We wouldn’t know anything about graffiti, Sir,” the one with a bad case of acne said, the ‘sir’ mocking in hat way some teenagers had with authority. “We’re just innocent bystanders, minding our own business.”

“Innocent bystanders, you say,” Nate mused, levelling a look at the one who had spoken. Nate caught his eyes and peered into his soul. There was a lot of anger there, anger at his constantly working exhausted mother, anger at his father who left on a business trip and never came back. Beneath all that hurt was middling intelligence that erred on the lazy, a proclivity to shyness with an overwhelming inferiority complex to his peers and a hunger to prove himself equal. He held a deep sense of kindness to animals proven by his bond with his pet dog Marley and harboured a crush on the girl next door that rarely acknowledged he existed. 

He was harmless, but it was a harmlessness that could easily be manipulated into something that could prove terrible.

The smirk on the boy’s face slipped and he shuffled his feet in nervousness. “What you looking at?”

“I’m looking at you, Sam,” Nate returned, a part of him enjoyed the shocked look on the boy’s face at Nate using his name without prompting. “You should be more careful. You don’t want to wander down this path, trust me. You won’t like where it eventually leads.”

“How- how did you know my name?” Sam said, voice stumbling.

Nate just stared at him, not replying.

Sam scoffed, but it was weak at best. “You’re off your head, mate. Are the Police now stalking people they don’t like?”

“I like you, Sam. It’s why I'm warning you now so you don’t do anything you’ll seriously regret in the future.”

“Come on, guys. Let’s get out of here” One of the other boys said, giving Nate a dirty look. “He’s got nothing on us. He can’t do shit.”

The four boys shuffled off, sending Nate furtive glances over their shoulders as if he would follow them. The Demon stayed, that grin still fixed on his lips as he watched Nate with those cat-like eyes. “Apologies for the graffiti of your God’s Church, Angel. When the opportunity presented itself, I just couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s the problem with you Demons. No self control.” Nate murmured.

The Demon shrugged easily. “The problem with you Angels is that you have too much self control.”

Nate considered him, felt the Demon’s power brush against his grace, probing, considering, weighing him up. He was a relatively young Demon, nothing like Aeron, and Nate didn’t feel particularly threatened by him. If it really came down to it, Nate could overpower him without too much trouble.

Nate opened his shields and let the Demon feel part of his grace. Nate watched as the Demon stiffened, eyes narrowed, as he straightened from the wall and planted his feet wider in a fighting stance. Nate’s grace responded, wrapped the Demon in his power and squeezed.

The Demon hissed and showed fangs.

“I don’t want to see you around here again,” Nate ordered, his voice deepening with his power. “If you test me, I won't hesitate to put you in your place. Do you understand?”

The Demon snarled, defiant, but he was caught in Nate’s power and unable to break it. “Yes,” he hissed between sharp teeth.

Nate let him go, drawing his grace into himself and, once again, was the unassuming Detective of the London police force.

The Demon gave him one last look of loathing before he sauntered after his friends. Nate watched them for a moment, making sure they had really gone, before heading towards his car to call in the break in.

Halfway across the road and Nate felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand to attention. He froze, glancing up at the sky. This morning, it had been cloudless and a deep blue, the last of the Autumn sunshine that England would have before the cold and rainy winter months of winter. But now that sky was rife with clouds, dark and ominous and threatening a powerful storm. 

Amongst the writhing clouds, there was shapes against the slate grey, and Nate’s heart lurched as he realised they were Angels.

Hundreds of them, all flying in the direction of the Heart of London, their armour and Wings the only spots of light in that deep grey. 

Nate stood gaping up at them, fear and sickness coiling in his stomach. They were a battle legion,  _ Sandriel’s battle legion _ and the only reason why they would be deployed was for one thing and one thing only.

War.


	5. Chapter 5

Nate knew he was in a dream. It was supposed to be mid-October in England, but it was bright sunshine and a warm breeze and the trees in the park he was standing in was bursting with green foliage. It was a dream because he was bare footed, wiggling his toes to feel the grass against his skin, and he has no idea how he got there and even where ‘there’ was precisely.

It was a dream because he was standing bare footed in a strange park with the sun playing on his wings, his unblemished wings, and Sandriel stood next to him without a look of disapproval on his face.

“I grieved with you when you lost your wings,” Sandriel murmured, his hand reaching out and trailing his fingers through the bright white feathers. “They were so beautiful.”

Weren’t dreams more of an agony than an ecstasy, because Nate felt that touch on his wings, felt the feathers shift with the movement and a shiver worked its way up his spine at how good it felt.

Sandriel knew better than to touch another Angel’s without their express permission. It was considered an intimate act, considering how vulnerable wings could be and Nate had never offered that permission to the other Angel. Even before Nate had come to Earth, they had never been close.

Nate gently pulled away from the touch, his wings folded tighter against his back in a show of discomfort. Sandriel’s hand lingered in the space between them before he retracted it, his face closed off.

“What are we doing here?” Nate asked after a lengthy pause of stilted silence. “What is this place?”

Sandriel stared out into the distance and Nate couldn’t be sure if he was taking in his surroundings or if he was looking inwards. Instead of answering Nate’s questions, he said, “Why did you give up your place in Heaven?”

Nate stared at his profile, at his austere expression, his stiff back and his own golden wings. “You know why.”

“Heaven has no use for a broken Angel, you told me.”

Nate nodded. “I stand by that to this day.”

Sandriel hummed, before turning back to Nate with an expression he had never seen on the other Angel’s face before. It was one of utter confusion. “Your damaged wings made it impossible to lead Heaven in the war, but it doesn’t explain why you left Heaven entirely. You were important, you could have taught other Angels your skills. You had everything you could possibly wish for. Why would you throw it all away to live among humans? To act like you are just like them?”

Nate stared at Sandriel after his emotional outburst. Why would he care what Nate did? “When I said ‘broken Angel’, I wasn’t just speaking in the physical sense, Sandriel. When I woke up from my healing sleep, I couldn’t not just fly. I couldn’t pick up my sword and start over. I was heart sick, I kept seeing all the faces of my Brothers that I had cast down into the Pit. All my brothers I had slaughtered-”

“It was justified,” Sandriel said empathically, his eyes alight with his zealous belief. “They went against the word of God, every one of them deserved their Damnation.”

Nate wouldn’t argue with him, wouldn’t waste his breath on the morality of war. “Justified or not, I kept seeing it all every time I went to close my eyes. I was choking on my own guilt, I had to get away.”

“To Earth,” Sandriel said with a sneer.

“You are the Archangel of London,” Nate calmly pointed out. 

“And I would have done anything to swap places with you in Heaven. Anything.”

All the pieces slotted into place with Sandriel’s quietly fierce words. Sandriel wasn’t resentful of having to share his territory with Nate, he was resentful because Nate got to fight in the Holy war and he had been forced to stay on Earth and protect the humans in his charge. He would never understand why Nate would willingly give up his place, regardless of the cost of such a position. He almost seemed to hate Nate for such a weakness, couldn’t bring himself to be in the same room as Nate unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Be careful, Sandriel,” Nate said softly. “Envy and pride are sins in the eyes of God. Some of our Brothers were cast down for far less.”

“What about cowardice?” Sandriel asked, tone of voice sickeningly light. “Does God view cowardice as a sin amongst his Angels?”

Nate didn’t raise to the bait, he didn’t need to defend himself to the Archangel. Whatever Nate’s reasons, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t kill anymore, couldn’t hurt either side. That should make up for any sin he was committing. It had to be.

“Have you asked to return to Heaven?” Nate asked instead.

Sandriel turned his face away. “Michael has denied me my rightful place. He believes I would do better to serve God here as the Archangel of London.”

The bitterness spilled over Sandriel’s tongue like poison and Nate wanted to take a step back away from the Angel. Nate knew Sandriel was ambitious but he had no idea how deep that well went until that moment.

The memory of all those Angels flying over head, like they were going to war, surfaced in Nate’s mind’s eye and he went cold with fear. “Sandriel,” he croaked. “What have you done?”

“I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago, what I should have done the moment that abomination stepped foot in London.”

His foreboding only increased. “You’re speaking of the Archdemon?”

Sandriel’s breath hissed between his teeth. “He is a mockery of everything that is good. It would be justified if I killed him and all that stand in his name.”

Nate watched Sandriel cautiously. “You’ve gone to war with him.” 

Sandriel didn’t seem to hear him, lost in his own jubilation. “I will have the abomination’s head on a pike and then Michael won’t be able to deny me my rightful place in his Legion. He will thank me for it when all is said and done.”

Nate shuddered. “There hasn’t been a war on Earth between Angel and Demon since the start of Man’s history. There are humans who could get hurt-”

“Acceptable losses,” Sandriel dismissed with a flick of his hand.

“Acceptable losses to who?”

Sandriel ignored this. “The downfall of the Archdemon has to be my priority.”

“If you have no regard for human life, then consider the loss of the Angels in your command. What about them?” Nate demanded angrily, hardly believing what he was hearing from the Angel’s mouth.

“Such are the casualties of war,” Sandriel turned back to Nate with a smile. “You should know that more than anyone.”

“You are breaking every law given to us. The Holy war stays in the Heavens, on Earth we influence human souls. We do not overstep our bounds-”

Sandriel shook his head in disappointment. “Cowardice, Nathaneal. It rears its ugly head within you. Look how far you have fallen.”

“Sandriel,” Nate cried out in frustration. Anger made his wings snap out, displaying their vast size. “Call it off!”

“It’s too late for that now. I’m heading the war part myself. I will be first to meet him in battle.” He turned to Nate again. “Pray for our victory, won’t you?”

Nate tried to speak but it was already too late. The dream fell away and Nate was left gasping in the darkness of his bedroom, alone and afraid.

* * *

_ “The Met Office has issued an Amber warning for the whole of London for strong easterly winds and torrential downpours of rain. Delays have been reported on road, rail, air and ferry transports. Closures of exposed routes and bridges are likely so check your updated satellite navigations devices for suggested re-routes or online on our website for updates…” _

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” Harri was saying as she stood in front of the precinct windows, watching the wind lash the rain against the glass like a waterfall. The outside world had turned into a grey blurred mist. “The storm came in so fast. None of the weather reports said anything about it.”

_ “... Public are advised to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary. London’s hospitals and surgery practices have seen an increase of patients suffering from injuries due to the weind force and tree damage…” _

“The Met Office frequently get it wrong at the best of times,” Nate said as he stood by her side, looking out and watching the clouds roil above the city.

The storm was gaining power, meaning Sandriel’s fight with the Archdemon was still raging on. “The positive thing is remember it can’t last forever.”

A brilliant flash of lightning cleaved the sky, making Nate blink in its wake. Thunder immediately followed, the rumbles almost shaking the glass in its window frame. 

“Seeing as it's like a scene from a post-apocalyptic world out there, any chance for some of us to go home and batten down the hatches?” Kowalski asked from his slouched position in his desk chair. 

“You’re a police officer, Kowalski,” Nate said without turning around to look at him. “If first responders need man power or some idiots decide to take advantage of the weather to do a spot of breaking and entering, then we do our jobs. What am I supposed to tell dispatch, we all went home because we don’t like getting wet?”

“But I don’t like getting wet,” he grumbled back. “My clothes cling uncomfortably and then I'm sat in wet clothes for hours trying to get dry.”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Harri teased. “Not all of us had a previous life as a house cat.”

Kowalski replied with something equally sarcastic, but Nate wasn’t listening. His eyes remained on the sky, envisaging what could possibly happening up there.

_ You foolish, foolish idiot,  _ Nate thought despairingly. There could be no happy ending with Aeron on one side and Michael’s ire at being disobeyed on the other.

“Nate,” Sergeant Holmes called and Nate turned in his direction. “We’ve got a five car pile up in Kensington. The Ambulance service is requesting assistance.” 

“Here we go,” Nate said, grabbing his and Harri’s coat from the coat rack and throwing it to her. “Let’s get this day started.”

Kowalski waved at them. “I would lend you my umbrella, Harri, but not all of us were a house cat in a previous life.” 

Harri showed him her middle finger as she followed Nate out the door.

* * *

The five car pile up had been, fortunately, not very serious. Three people were packed up into the waiting ambulances with suspected whiplash and a broken arm, but no fatalities. Directing traffic and clearing the scene had been the harder part and it had taken up the whole of the morning. 

It seemed that, despite the weather warnings, Londoners weren’t going to let anything stand in the way of their schedules. 

It was when they were heading back to their car, soaking wet and shivering with the cold, that Nate stumbled and fell to his knees on the asphalt. The pain of the impact and scraped knees didn’t register, not when the whole of Nate’s body reverberated with the agony and loss he felt in the wake of an Archangel dying. 

Nate cried out, clutching at his chest with clawed fingers, like he could tear the pain out with his bare hands. His broken wings fought his control, trying to thrust out in his grief. Against all odds, he had the wherewithal to keep them shielded from Harri, but it took a lot out of him.

In the distance, Nate heard Harri call out his name in alarm before she was by his side, gripping both of his shoulders and holding him up with surprising strength as he slumped forward. “Christ Nate, what is it? What’s wrong?”

_ Sandriel had been destroyed. The Archangel of London is no more. _

The pain had taken his breath away and Nate panted like he had run a marathon, trying to form words.

Harri watched him with growing concern. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Is it your heart? Heart attack?” She started to reach for her radio that hung on the belt at her waist. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

That was the last thing he needed. “Don’t,” he ground out, forcing himself to stop pawing at his own chest, trying to regain control of his breathing.

“Nate,” Harri protested, her concern bordering on panic. “You’re clearly in pain. Let me get help.”

“It’s nothing.” He gave her a wan smile which clearly did nothing to dispel her fear. “It’s just chest pain, it will soon pass.”

As if to prove it, he had the strength to get to his feet and remain standing, albeit unsteadily. Harri still clutched at his shoulders, as if unsure that if she were to let him go, he would end up on the floor again.

“Are you sure? Have you had this pain before?”

On this, he didn’t have to lie to her. “I’ve felt it before. I promise, it will pass.”

“Nate…”

“Please, Harri. I just want to get out of this freezing rain.” He said and he must have looked miserable as she finally relented, walking with him to the car and opening the door before gently prodding him into the front passenger seat. He was usually the driver, but it seemed like Harri was determined to play taxi. Nate didn’t argue.

She looked at him as she struggled with his seat belt. “Alright, but I'm taking you home rather than back to the precinct. You look like you need all the rest you can get and get over… whatever it is that you need to get over.”

Nate merely nodded his ascent. “Thank you, Harri. I’ll go home and sleep it off.”

Harri watched him for a moment longer. “Good,” she said gruffly, before she shut the door and got into the driver’s side. “Text me tonight, so I know how you’re doing.”

Her concern warmed him and that terrible emptiness left in the wake of Sandriel’s presence eased slightly. “Yes, boss.”

“Less of the cheek, Detective,” she scolded good-naturedly, before turning on the engine and pulling away from the curb to enter the traffic.

It was a much smoother ride to his home that Harri usually did when she was occasionally allowed to be the designated driver and Nate was thankful for it. 

“Well, there something to be grateful for,” Harri said into the silence.

“What?”

“It looks like the storm is finally clearing.”

She was right. The rain was starting to ease off, the clouds less like it’s steel grey colour.

The battle was over. 

* * *

After extracting several more promises to call her if it worsens, Nate watched her drive off before he stepped inside his home. Instead of heading straight to bed like his body wanted him to, Nate pushed through and entered his guest room where his hidden box in the flume of the fireplace was waiting for him.

It was practically vibrating.

He laid it on the bed, careful not to get any of the dust on the covers, and popped open the silver catches that held it closed. The box opened with a sigh and the sword in it glowed with Holy light. Nate reached out and stroked his fingertips down the soft padded pommel before he pulled it out. 

It sang to him, pleased to be reunited with the hand of its master and Nate, finally, breathed easier. A piece of Nate slotted back into the whole. There would be no resting for Nate tonight, not yet anyway.

The sheath lay in the bottom of the box, along with the holster. Nate picked it up and slid the blade into the supple material and strapped it into place across his back. He pulled his coat on over it, the pommel of the sword sticking up just over his shoulder. The lines of his coat lay a little awkwardly, but it would have to do. Walking around London with a sword buckled to your back may be a little too conspicuous, after all. 

Stepping back into the rain, Nate paused at the entrance and closed his eyes. This would be the first time since before he came to Earth that he would expel Angelic energy in such a way. 

Nate’s Grace rippled out like a fan, searching, seeking, through the boroughs of the city. It wound through the cobblestone streets to the vast bustling finance sectors. He touched on the people who lived and worked here, felt their all-too human heart beating their short incandescent lives, felt the dark energies of the Demons that worked their industrious influence on the populace and he tried not to panic. There was only one or two bright spots Angelic signatures in the city. Could they all have perished in the battle or were they in their stronghold on the outskirts, regrouping?

Nate couldn’t think of that now. He had to find the Archangel’s vessel.

Sandriel had been destroyed, his Grace eradicated, but there would still be some small traces of it that still resided in the vessel, and he had to find it. 

Nate’s power stretched further, sweat beading at his hairline as he extended himself, until found it. It was weak, so weak, but it was there. Nate eyes snapped open and he moved. 

Having functioning wings would have gotten him there faster, but he could still move faster than what the human eye could track. He was nothing but a blur through the streets, using that flickering spark as a homing beacon to guide his way. At the end of that line, he found himself in an industrial estate, another skyscraper being built with great pillars of grey mortar and steel pipes. Amongst a cornered off site of hard packed mud and idle diggers, four levels had been erected, with no glass put in and the fifth open to the sky. The air smelt strongly of building dust and cement. 

Nate vaulted the metal fence and stopped at the foot of the skeleton like building, looking up. It was eerily quiet, nothing moved in the dusk light and Nate waited.

Nothing. There was no one here to bear witness. Where was the Death vigil? There should have been Angels here, mourning the Archangel, taking care of his Vessel, marking his passing.

Nate had no choice but to forge on.

He passed between the cement pillars and climbed the rough hewn steps to the fifth floor, pausing again to listen. His view of the floor was obstructed by a wall but there was faint light emanating from beyond it, a flickering orange glow that could only come from a flame. 

“Step into the light, little Angel. Let me see your face,” said a teasing voice from that glow. “I can taste your energy and I want more.”

That voice was easily recognisable, belonging to the Demon Aeron, but it was deeper, more inhuman. It sent a shiver down Nate’s spine at the velvet power it held. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move. He was sure that if he did, it would mean his death. 

“Come into the light,” Aeron said again and those purring words were laced with firm compulsion.

Nate was powerless to counter it. His body jerked forward, like he was being pulled along by marionette strings, and Nate stepped up to the floor and into that orange glow. Nate’s eyes quickly adjusted to the difference in light and he recoiled from the scene before him. 

Sandriel’s vessel was spread out prone in the middle of the floor, in a pose not unlike that of Jesus on the cross that the Catholic faith loved to decorate their churches with. He was in his exquisite armour, silver with gold leaf on his breastplate, shoulders and wrist guards. The fire, that was burning in a circle around the body, painted the silver surface red. 

_ “I grieved with you when you had lost your wings. They were so beautiful.” _

In a sick twist of fate, Sandriel’s own wings were now nothing more than a bloodied blackened mess beneath him. Blood streaked the Archangel’s face, his hands, his armour, it pooled beneath him and seemed to feed the fire surrounding him. The eyes were open staring blankly up at the Heavens. 

Nate didn’t realise he had made a sound until his own cry echoed back to him and the Demon standing over Sandriel's vessel, had turned to him. 

It was Aeron, and yet it wasn’t. Gone was the business suit, the elegantly coiffed hair, that veneer of civilised propriety. Standing in its place was a tall warrior with pitch black armour, the shoulder and wrist braces ending in wicked tips that could rip through flesh with uncanny ease. The two short swords in his hands, the metal the same colour as his armour, dripped blood and glinted a cold light. His face, handsome in its human form, was now so beautiful, it almost pained Nate to look upon him.

The eyes were entirely black and staring at Nate with an expression that he could not decipher. 

Aeron pointed to the fire circle with the tip of one of swords. “I made this circle to mask the Archangel’s signature so none of your kind could detect it. There hasn’t been an instance that I can recall where someone has managed to find something that I had wished to conceal.” Aeron watched him with that unscrupulous look on his face. “Until you.”

Nate swallowed with difficulty, sensing that he was on very thin ground and those blades had a wickedly sharp edge to them.

Aeron smiled, something hungry and pleased in the curl of his lips. “Detective Nathaniel Winters. Or should I be calling you Nathaneal, Archangel of Fire?”

Nate didn’t think he could be more afraid in that moment than when his own name uttered by this man. He was so, so wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

_Aeron smiled, something hungry and pleased in the curl of his lips. “Detective Nathaniel Winters. Or should I be calling you Nathaneal, Archangel of Fire?”_

_Nate didn’t think he could be more afraid in that moment than when his own name uttered by this man. He was so, so wrong._

Aeron didn’t seemed phased by Nate’s stunned silence, he seemed to be amused by it, if his smile was anything to go by. “Who else could get around my fire circle but the Archangel of Fire? I commend you on such a neat trick.”

Nate was numb with astonishment. “How-” the words got stuck in his throat, unwilling to be uttered. _How could you possibly know my true name?_

Aeron pointed one of his swords at the corpse between them. “Sandriel offered it up on a silver platter, before he died. It seems he thought by giving me your name, I would spare him his miserable life. An Archangel's life for an Archangel's life, if you will. While I have wanted to know your name since our first meeting, it was poor compensation for having to stomach his company on earth.”

Nate shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing. He felt numb with shock, like he was simply going through the motions and he was experiencing it outside of his body. “I don't believe you.”

“How else would I have known your name?” Aeron asked reasonably as he cleaned the blood from his blades one by one, all the while he never took his eyes off of Nate. “Can you, with hand on heart, say that your precious Sandriel was above such deceit?”

He couldn't answer that truthfully. For a while now Nate couldn't recognise the Angel that Sandriel had become. Earth had irrevocably changed him, twisted him into something that Nate had found difficult to look in the eye. 

Aeron’s smile only grew with Nate’s silence. “That's what I thought.”

Despite his survival instinct screaming at him, Nate took a step closer to Sandriel’s prone form, felt the heat of the fire against his chilled skin, but it did nothing to warm him. It didn't make any sense. This whole scene didn't make any sense. 

A Demon couldn't destroy an Archangel. They didn't have the power. And yet. _And yet._

“Who did it? Who was the one who destroyed Sandriel?”

Aeron finally sheathed this swords away, but it did nothing to ease Nate’s fears. He held those empty hands out in a ‘ta-da’ motion. “It was yours truly.”

Nate’s mouth suddenly went dry. “You couldn't have.”

Aeron lifted an eyebrow in mild enquiry. “Oh? Why not?”

Nate shuddered. “Because you're not a Fallen one.”

“Nathaneal,” Aeron sighed his name and it sounded like a bastardised prayer on those lips. “But I am one of the Fallen ones.”

With those words, the glamour fell away and Aeron stood there for all to see. He had been beautiful in human form, but as a Fallen angel, he was so exquisite that it pained Nate to look upon his true form. He stood taller than most human men, broad shouldered and lithe. His skin was pure white, unblemished, his eyes had a split pupil like a cat’s eye and they were the colour of Amber. Unnatural. Unholy. His hair was dark and long, tied back at the nape of his neck. 

But it was the wings that took all of Nate’s attention. They were just as black as his hair, their darkness seeming to swallow up the light around them. And while their once bright colours had been corrupted by the smoke of Hell, they didn't change into a bat's wings like some religious painters depicted the Fallen Ones in their paintings. They were vast and feathered - 

And displayed for Nate to look his fill. He was preening for an Angel like a bloody model on a fashion runway. 

That power, he's never felt anything like it. It was old, all encompassing and could easily crush Nate like a gnat between two fingertips. It reached out to Nate, surrounding him, blocking him from escape and Nate was forced to scramble to throw up his shields against it. 

A fat lot of good it would do Nate. He waited for the crushing pressure of that power, to feel his shields strain before shattering and leaving Nate at the mercy of the Fallen angel. 

But it didn't happen. Instead he felt that power prod against his shields, testing, before it stroked down the surface and reluctantly pulling away. 

Nate was left gasping for breath in its wake. 

“The Fallen cannot hold the mantle of Archdemon.” Nate accused. 

Aeron shrugged. “For my own purposes of the Earthly visit, I hold the title of Archdemon. Until I see fit to pass it back to its original owner, of course. For the time being, it is mine to do as I pleased.”

What happened to the original owner? If anything, Demons were covetous creatures and they wouldn’t have given it up without a fight, even if it was a Fallen angel who was doing the taking. 

“And what is a Fallen one doing on Earth?” Nate couldn’t help himself, he had to ask. “Satan likes to keep his ill begotten flock in the hallowed halls of Hell, I didn’t think your kind would suffer the company of humans.”

That power was back and it brushed at Nate, almost absentmindedly and Nate flinched away from it. “You underestimate humans and their world. What Devil in his or her right mind would pass up the chance to revel in all the sin and indulgences that Earth has to offer? It is truly a unique place, it caters for the Holy and Unholy alike.”

Nate narrowed his eyes at the Demo- Fallen angel. “I’ve been dealing with liars and criminals for the past six years, don’t think I don’t notice an evasion when I hear one.”

“My dear Inspector,” Aeron said, clearly amused. “I can’t give away all of my secrets to the opposite side. What would my peers say?”

Aeron may be a Fallen one rather than a Demon, making Nate scramble to think of him as something entirely different, but that smile remained the same, just as smug and irritating as ever. “How about a name then? It seems only fair as you now know mine.”

Aeron took a step around the fire, then another, eating up the short distance between them. “But you didn’t give it to me willingly, did you? I had to prise it out of another Angel.”

Nate backpedalled, keeping the same distance between them as he moved around the ring of fire. It was a macabre dance, Aeron mimicking Nate’s moves, always staying with him. Was he being hunted?

“Are you saying I have to prise it out of one of your Demons to find it out?”

“I’m saying that you are the Archangel of Fire who has been on Earth for six years, right under my very nose without me knowing it. I’m sure you’ll find it out with that creative brain of yours.”

From anyone else, that would have sounded like a compliment. 

This was utterly pointless and, first and foremost, dangerous to be playing these games with him. It would only end up with Nate’s throat cut and his grace destroyed.

“I’m here for Sandriel’s body,” Nate said, veering them back to safer territory. “There needs to be a vigil for him.”

From one second to the next, all humour fled the Fallen Angel’s face. “There won’t be a vigil for the Archangel of London, Nathaneal. He was a sinner, after all. He doesn’t deserve your benevolence.”

Nate blinked in confusion. “Sinned?”

“Of course. What else would you call this grab for power but pride and greed?” Aeron suddenly changed direction, circling Sandriel counter clockwise and Nate was forced to change with him, heart thudding in his chest. “And whose better to know about the punishment of sin than a Fallen Angel?”

“So that gives you the justification for destroying him? He should have been judged by God, not from you-”

Nate saw the first flicker of anger in those cat like eyes, but it was too late to take the words back, to realise his criticism would be taken with anything other than anger.

Nate didn’t even see him move. He was suddenly in front of Nate, hand planted firmly in the middle of Nate’s chest, before he was propelled backwards until his back hit the cemented pillar. Air whooshed out of his lungs in a painful wheeze, the jarring thud sending shocks of discomfort shooting up his spine.

Instinct took over and he drew his knee up to make contact with Aeron’s crotch but he moved to block it at the last second and Nate’s knee made a glancing blow to the side of his thigh. It felt like he had kneed granite.

Nate gripped the wrist of the hand that had him pinned, twisting viciously and jerking it down at a sharp ankle. Aeron hissed through his teeth but he didn’t drop Nate like Nate had expected, or hoped. Instead, he grabbed both of Nate’s hands in his own and jerked them high above Nate’s head, rendering him useless. His feet barely touched the floor, his spine arched to take his weight off of his arms. 

Aeron pressed is face closer, his nose almost buried in Nate’s neck where it met his shoulder and breathed in deeply. Nate froze in place, his breath loud in the silence, afraid that if he pushed Aeron far enough, the Fallen Angel would rip his throat out with nothing more than his teeth.

Aeron didn’t pull back, instead speaking into the vulnerable skin of Nate’s neck. “Sandriel sought open war, going against the most fundamental law between our kind here on Earth. We don’t wage war where there can be human casualties. I couldn’t afford to wait around for your divine justice, so I issued my own.”

There wouldn’t be any arguing with him, Nate could see that. Besides, what good would it do? Sandriel was destroyed and there was no coming back from that.

“Sire.”

The new voice was jarring in the ensuing silence. It came from behind Aeron and Nate tried to crane his neck to see over Aeron’s shoulder, but he was too tall and the hold Aeron had on him afforded little in the way of movement. 

Aeron pulled back slightly, just enough that Nate could see his profile, but his tone of voice made Nate feel infinitely grateful he didn’t have to see the Fallen Angel’s expression. “I thought I gave the order to stay away.”

“Sire,” and this time the voice sounded contrite. “We have a problem in the East End. Angels are amassing and causing a nuisance.”

Nate tested the strength of Aeron’s grip, seeing if he could pull his hands away and stand on his own, but it was no use. “You have their Archangel’s vessel, what were you expecting?”

Aeron ignored him. “And you can’t deal with it yourself?”

“How far do you want me to take it?” The anticipatory relish in that voice made Nate stiffen as he envisaged a scene like what happened to Sandriel happening to more than one Angel. 

“Fundamental laws, you said,” Nate said in a low voice so only Aeron could hear. “Does the destruction of a whole garrison come under that law or do you only adhere to it when it suits your purpose?”

Aeron pulled back further so he could see Nate’s face. They were so close that Nate felt Aeron’s breath against his cheek. “I think I've made my point perfectly clear with the Sandriel’s example. Do you think I need to make more for them to back down?”

Nate shook his head in the negative. “They just want his vessel back for their vigil.”

Aeron hummed and pulled away from Nate entirely and Nate caught his first glimpse of the Demon standing to the side of them. He was the biggest man Nate had ever seen, shorter than Aeron but muscled and compact. He wasn’t wearing armour like the Fallen Angel, but he was wearing all black and the fabric was pulled tight over the musculature to the point that Nate thought the stitching was under threat of tearing. He looked to be in his early forties, a swarthy complexion and an expression that showed he could chew gravel and it wouldn’t hurt him.

Gravel chewer glanced at Nate, assessing, before turning to Aeron. “How do you want to play it?”

Aeron watched Nate as he pushed himself away from the pillar and put his clothes to rights. “Leave them. They are leaderless and grieving. The worst has happened for them.”

Gravel chewer looked disappointed but he inclined his head before melting into the darkness.

Nate looked down at Sandriel. “I can take Sandriel to them.”

“Sandriel’s vessel is mine, Nathaneal. It’s my war trophy.”

“But-”

Aeron made a cutting motion with his hand which brought Nate to a sudden stop, the unspoken words burning his tongue. “I’m letting you leave here unhurt, your Angels unmolested. They can stand for a vigil at their stronghold, but it will be without the vessel. I think I'm being more than fair considering what the Archangel tried to do, don’t you?”

Nate looked at Aeron’s face, his implacable expression, and didn’t argue with him. 

Without saying another word, he left the same way he came, periodically glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being followed or if Aeron had changed his mind and decided having Nate in London was too much of a risk, but the construction site stayed silent. 

Nate was glancing over his shoulder for the final time when he heard a noise in the alley in front of him. Nate turned his head back around, but clearly not quickly enough. One minute he was walking, the next he was airborne before he sailed into the brick wall and sliding to the floor in a heap. His jaw was on fire and his teeth screamed in agony. 

He had been hit. Hard.

“Evening, Detective,” A jovial voice said above his prone form and Nate blinked the stars out of his eyes before he could focus again. The owner of the voice was wearing beaten up old converse shoes, the white laces undone and trailing on the floor. Nate’s eyes travelled up skinny legs encased in dark, tight skinny jeans before eyeing a black band t-shirt until he was looking into the spotty adolescent face of a smirking Demon.

Ah. The same one from outside the defaced church.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the Demon said in that sickeningly sweet voice, like he was so happy to see him. He probably was, considering the rather underhanded blow he dealt Nate. 

“Fancy that,” Nate replied, voice flat with barely suppressed anger. For a skinny teenage metal head, he packed one hell of a punch. Nate attempted to stand up, using the wall behind him as support, but before he could get his feet under him, the Demon planted his foot into Nate’s ribcage in a vicious kick. The air in Nate’s lungs dispelled in a noisy whoosh and his ribs cracked ominously, sending lancing pain down his side. 

Nate grunted, lashing out and gripping the foot in his hand. He tightened his hold, making the bones grate against each other and making the Demon snarl at him in pain, before he twisted and pushed him away, making him stagger back.

Nate used the distraction to finally stand up, breath wheezing through his clenched teeth. “What happened to your bosses order of ‘don’t touch the Angel’?”

The Demon righted himself, hatred a hot burn in those snake-like eyes. “What the boss doesn’t know can’t hurt him, as the saying goes,” he said before he raised his hand in the air made a gesture.

Three dark figures detached themselves from the alley’s shadows and Nate saw those inhuman eyes flash at him from hungry faces. Their Demonic presence crawled across Nate’s skin like a swarm of marching ants. He shuddered at the feeling. 

The grin widened on the teenage Demon’s face. “Besides, I have yet to repay you for your insult at the church.”

This wasn’t a joke, they were deadly serious about going against Aeron’s orders and hurting Nate. Or quite possibly destroying Nate’s vessel in the process. Bonus points to Demons, if their blood lust was anything to go by. 

“You’re willing to go against your superior for little old me?” Nate asked as he reached up and pulled out his sword from its sheath at his back, the metal singing. “I’m touched, really.”

The teenage Demon stared at the sword with equal measure of loathing and reverence. “He wouldn’t mind if I was to bring that sword back to him as a trophy.” 

Nate smiled grimly, hand tightening on the pommel in a gut reaction. “I’d like to see you try, Demon spawn. Can you even touch it without feeling pain?”

Angel metal was imbued with the blessing of God and strengthened with faith, both things Demons had wantonly given up. It was painful for them to even to look at it, let alone touch it. Wounds from Angelic weapons took longer to heal and the whole time it would be agony to the damned. 

Or so they say, of course. Nate didn’t really stick around to talking to his dark brethren.

Until recently, that is. 

“It would be worth it,” the Demon hissed as he pulled out a knife rom his pocket before he rushed Nate, blurring with his speed, the three other Demons close on his heels. 

Nate tensed his body as he lowered the sword until the point nearly touched the ground and spaced his legs apart to absorb the impact. He felt the rush of adrenaline through his body, that age-old song of flight or fight singing in his veins. There was a part of him that loved the feeling, missed it, revelled in it.

But the other part was sickened by it, that swoop in his stomach as instinct kicked in. That horrible shaking feeling of _not again not again not again_ and _don’t make me fight anymore, I can’t stand it-_

But it didn’t matter what he wanted. He was constantly forced into situations beyond his control. 

Getting hit by a Demon was like getting hit by a barrelling train, the impact of the Demon’s knife against Nate’s sword sent trembling pain through Nate’s hands and up his arms into his shoulders. He was thrust back, his feet sliding on the cobblestones and he drew to a stop five feet from where he had started.

Nate braced himself before he pushed back, turning the Demon’s strength against him. He twisted his sword arm, causing the Demon’s knife to glance off harmlessly. The Demon staggered to the side and Nate pressed his advantage, sliding the sword’s edge along the meat of his upper thigh. Blood spilled and scented the air.

But they kept coming.

Four against one was always going to be a hard fight, even in his prime. But he was out of practise, his reaction time was woefully slow, his stamina not what it used to be. They came at him one by one, or all together, dancing away when Nate had the chance to bestow a killing blow. They were deliberately wearing him down, and Nate was painfully reminded of how a hyena pack would chase down their panicking prey. The pack would run their quarry to ground, keeping a safe distance, so that their prey tires itself to the point of exhaustion, before they closed in for the kill.

He was fighting for survival against hyenas and soon he won’t have the energy to keep them at bay and they all knew it.

The sword’s pommel slipped in his clammy hand, making him clumsy as he parried the blow aimed at his chest. The force sent him off balance and he nearly toppled over backwards, righting himself at the last possible moment, but by then it was too late. 

The Demons set upon him with renewed vigour, kicking his sword out of his nerveless fingers so it sailed out of his reach to disappear into some dank shadowed corner. He was completely open to the knife at his back, the cold blade biting deep into his flesh. 

He gave a cry of pain, shrugging the Demon away, the knife still protruding from his back. The Demons laughed, nasty little titters of gravelly noise, as they circled him again.

“You make the most beautiful sounds when you’re in pain, Detective,” The teenage Demon groaned and Nate was horrified to realise the Demon was turned on by it, judging by the erection he was sporting in those stupid jeans. “Let’s see if we can’t make you scream for us more.”

_“What did I say about harming the Angel?”_

The voice was booming and so very angry, the words cutting like a razor edge. Nate thought his brain would bleed out from his ears from hearing that voice, Aeron’s voice, yet not. 

Nate couldn’t hold himself up, either from the blood loss or that power that drenched the alley like a great flood. He dropped to his knees, eyes swimming. He could just make out the three Demons in front of him with their backs turned to the mouth of the alley, cowering. 

“He had a weapon, Lord,” The teenage Demon stammered, not so smug anymore. “He brought an Angelic weapon into your territory-”

“He did not draw it,” Aeron said and this time it was in a much more reasonable voice, that power banked but simmering under that tenor. “You broke the word I had given for his safe passage, Moloch.”

The teenage Demon, Moloch’s, confusion was palpable. “But he is an Angel. We should not suffer their kind-”

“My word means a great deal to me and you have made me out to be a liar. You know I hate to be a liar.”

Nate shuddered at his tone, his whole body shaking with it. Was he..?

“Look away, Angel. You don’t want to see this,” Aeron said and for the first time in Nate’s life, he obeyed a Fallen one without question.

He turned his face away as he saw bright white light engulf the alley, the heat of it touching his cheeks. _Hellfire._

The Demons didn’t get a chance to fight or flee. Their screams as they burned echoed in Nate’s ears and he knew he would be hearing them in nightmares to come. 

It felt like an eternity before the white light behind his eyelids flickered out and the heat wasn’t so fierce, Nate opened his eyes gingerly before he turned back to the alley.

Nothing but dark smudges of ash on the cobblestones and the scent of brimstone in the air.

Aeron stepped towards him with his hands on his hips and a thoughtful expression as he regarded those same smudges. “You just can't get the staff these days.”

Nate felt numb. “You incinerated them.”

“I did.”

“But,” he floundered for a moment, the pain dragging him towards the black of unconsciousness. “But why?”

Aeron tilted his head, as if Nate said something incredibly stupid. “They tried to hurt you against my orders. Of course i incinerated them.”

Under other circumstances, Nate would have found that sentiment incredibly odd coming from the mouth of a Fallen, but he was in no fit state to analyse it. He couldn’t hang on any longer, the black rushed up to meet him and he fell into it.


	7. Chapter 7

_Nathaneal was there for the first sunrise on earth, felt those tentative warm rays on his upturned face, playing on the feathers of his splayed wings. Nathaneal had never seen anything more beautiful in his whole existence and his heart filled with the first feelings of wonder -_

“I’m sorry, sire. I- I don’t fully understand what you’re asking me to do,” said a trembling voice that Nate had never heard before.

“Which part of ‘heal him’ can you not wrap your head around?” replied a sardonic voice and that one Nate knew, unfortunately. 

There was a pause. “But he’s an _Angel.”_

There was a low laugh. “Really? What gave him away?”

“But I don’t-”

The voice turned serious and deadly. “I won’t ask you a second time.”

_Really_ , Nate thought as darkness descended on him again, like a curtain cut, _there’s no need to threaten anyone on his account._

_"Are you sure about this, Nathaneal? You were created as the Archangel of Fire. To give up your purpose is…” Gabriel paused, casting his thoughts around for the right words._

_Nate tried to help him out. “Brave? Daring? The right thing to do?”_

_A smile touched the Archangel’s lips. “Hasty. Overdramatic. Not what i would call the right thing to do.”_

_Out of anyone else's mouth, Nate would have thought it a criticism. From Gabriel, it was merely fond. “I cannot begin to explain to you my reasoning for leaving so that you would understand. But for me, it’s the only way I can move forward from…”_

_“From?”_

_“Everything.”_

_“Ah. The unquantifiable ‘everything’ that encompasses a whole lot of nothing at all.”_

_Nate smiled in what felt like a long time. “See? I knew you would understand eventually.”_

“Why isn’t he waking me up yet?”

“Demon blades can inflict slow healing wounds on Angels just as easily as Angelic weapons can on Demons.”

“I know that, thank you for your startling input. What I mean to say is that the Detective looks as pale as death, which is a feat considering his natural London pallor.”

“He’s alive, Sire. I’ve never actually healed an Angel before, so I don’t know how long it takes before he wakes up, but as far as I can tell he should be fine.”

The threatening tone was back. “Should be…”

“Most definitely, Sire. He’ll be the healthiest Angel walking the Earth.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

Darkness encroached on Nate again and he had no choice but to give in.

* * *

When unconsciousness relinquished Nate for the final time, he came to in a bed that wasn’t his own. He blinked up at a white high ceiling with glass lamps that caught the light in a tumult of rainbow flashes on the walls around him. The bed he was in was the softest he had ever had the pleasure of waking up in, the mattress practically hugging the curve of his body, the duvet like silk against his skin.

Most definitely not his bed with its drooping bed frame and rather scratchy covers he had bought in the sale at Wilkinson’s, twenty percent off full price. 

What had happened?

His mind was sluggish, fuzzy with the vestige of sleep. It was only when he tried to turn over and pain lanced up his back that the events of the night before came crashing down and he groaned aloud.

The teenage Demon. The knife in the back. Hellfire.

Oh God. And now he was in a place he didn’t know, with, yes, no top on and clean bandages wrapped securely around his shoulder and across his chest to protect his wound. A full body stretch confirmed the tight and pinching feeling of stitches.

Mindful of said wound, he was able to throw off the covers and pant his way to a sitting position with his legs hanging over the side of the bed. He could now see the bedroom he was in more clearly from this angle. 

It was the type of bedroom that Nate had only ever seen in those fashionable decorating magazines to showcase all the latest and very expensive trends of the upcoming year. It was a large room, with cream walls and dark cherry wood furniture reminiscent of Human’s 1940s era of English country gent. Large windows were covered with floaty white curtains that didn’t really do anything to keep the sun out but looked good anyway, and oil paintings of lilies adorning the walls. His feet sunk into plush cream carpets and Nate couldn’t help but wonder how much upkeep it needed to keep its pristine colour. 

Nate rose from the bed on wobbly legs and cast his eyes around for his shirt and jacket. There was no sign of them, but there was a navy blue shirt that was hanging up on a hanger on the door of the wardrobe, clearly out for him to wear it.

The shirt was easy to put on as the buttons were on the front and he was grateful to whoever had the presence of mind to think of his injuries. The idea of trying to wrestle himself into a t-shirt was unthinkable. 

It was a little big in the shoulders and the ends of the shirt came further down the thigh that he was used to, but it was incredibly soft and comfortable. He brought the material to his nose, breathing in. It even smelt nice, something earthy and rich.

Once he had buttoned it up, Nate made his way to the door and he tried the handle. A part of him expected it to be locked, for him to be a prisoner here, but the handle gave under his touch and the door opened soundlessly on to a corridor with closed doors on either side. 

Just where the hell was he? Pun intended, of course.

Stepping into the corridor, Nate then caught the scent of frying bacon and his vessel’s stomach gave a loud gurgle of hunger. Healing, apparently, was hungry business.

He followed the scent down the corridor towards what he presumed was the kitchen, the lack of stairs leading to the conclusion that he was in a very fancy apartment. 

The corridor immediately opened out to a spacious open planned living room, dining room and kitchen with floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the stunning landscape of London proper, the Great Thames river winding through the land of glass and metal structures. Nate didn’t want to think of how much it must cost to live in a place like this.

“Take a seat, breakfast won’t be much longer now,” Aeron said and Nate startled. He had been too busy taking in the apartment and hadn’t even seen Aeron standing at the massive silver monstrosity that was the oven. He had his back turned to Nate as he was busy scrambling what looked like eggs in a frying pan.

Nate’s brain short circuited at the image of Aeron in a homely setting, doing something as mundane as making breakfast with his crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I, um…”

Aeron turned to face him with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Not hungry?”

“No, I mean, yes. Starving actually. It’s just,” Nate made a vague gesture to encompass the whole room. “This.”

Aeron’s eyes wandered around the room as if taking it in with new eyes. “Not what you expected?”

“Anything to do with Demons or, apparently, fallen Angels, i immediately think of dark foreboding caves or cess pits.” Nate said honestly. “What I really mean is, where am I exactly?”

“Dark foreboding caves and cess pits aren’t really comfortable for somebodies living arrangements, even for something like me,” Aeron said as he turned back to the oven, twisting some nobs on the front to turn off the heat, before ladling two plates on the counter with the eggs and crispy bacon. “You’re in my home. I couldn’t very well leave you on the street to bleed out. People get very weary when a decorated Detective of the London's police force gets stabbed in their area. It drives down the housing prices.”

“And that matters to you why, exactly? One dead Angel should be a tick in the box for your side, surely.”

Aeron carried over the plates to the dining table, which was already laid out with silver utensils, tall glasses of what looked like orange juice and a large pot of piping hot coffee. Several pieces of browned toast were in a triangle rack, along with a wedge of real butter on a plate and an assortment of jams.

_I’m about to have breakfast with a fallen Angel like we do this every day,_ Nate thought with a side of forced calm. 

Aeron set the plates down on the slate placemats before pulling out a chair for Nate. “One destroyed Archangel is quite enough for one evening, don’t you think? Sit down, you must be famished.”

What a sobering thought.

Nate hesitated, eyeing Aeron like he might pull a sword on him with his back turned. “This wouldn’t happen to be an attempt on my life, would it? A bit of arson to pepper the eggs? A drop of rat poison in the orange juice for added flavouring?”

“I wouldn’t ruin perfectly good eggs,” Aeron replied, widening his eyes to look innocent. The attempt was abysmal. “Besides, if I planned on destroying you, I would have done it while you were blissfully unconscious, a much easier way and less to clean up afterwards.”

He sounded so sensible that Nate did believe him. He let Aeron draw the chair in for him before he sat in his own chair opposite Nate. Nate picked up a fork and speared a piece of egg, giving it a thorough sniff just in case, before opening his mouth and taking a bite.

It was unfairly delicious.

He must have made a noise of approval because Aeron looked pleased and said, “Glad you like it,” before he started to butter a piece of toast. 

Nate couldn’t help himself, he tucked into the food in front of him like a man who hadn’t eaten in days, the bacon soon following the eggs. Aeron placed the buttered toast on his half empty plate without a word and Nate chose to not comment on it. Like a lot of things involving Aeron, Nate thinks, taking a large gulp of the orange juice to wash it down, the liquid tart on his tongue. 

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” Nate said and effectively breaking the silence. 

Aeron finished his mouthful at a much slower pace than was truly warranted for a piece of bacon, before answering. “I offer you my sincerest apologies for one of my Demons for breaking the promise between us. I underestimated how reckless he truly was.”

“You underestimated a Demon’s recklessness,” Nate said disbelievingly. “I thought that was part of the job description for a Demon?”

Aeron inclined his head. “Naturally, but not at the cost to my own wishes.”

“Orders.” Nate corrected.

“Same thing.”

“Well, it’s not what I was referring to, though I appreciate the apology.” Nate put down his cutlery and gave Aeron his full attention. “I meant the fact that you destroyed your own Demon, someone on your side.” 

What Nate really wanted to ask was _did you do it on my account or the fact he disobeyed you?_ But the words stuck in his throat and he didn’t want Aeron to mock him ceaselessly. 

He considered Nate for a moment. “Ah,” he said. “That.”

“Yes,” Nate said patiently. “That.”

Aeron put his own knife and fork down on his plate and picked up the coffee decanter to pour himself a cup. He offered it to Nate but Nate turned it down. “It’s usually not how I go about punishing those who disobey me directly. It normally involves a bigger Demonic audience, setting an example to those who think they could do the same.”

“Mustn't let a perfectly good opportunity go to waste, etcetera etcetera.” Nate said ruefully. 

Aeron smiled. “You would make a very good Demon, did you know that? But I admit, I was angry and got a little carried away.”

“A little carried away,” Nate said slowly. “I would hate to see you get carried the whole way.”

Aeron hummed around the rim of his coffee cup, his eyes flashing with mirth. “Don’t you get a little carried away with your Angelic blessings, Nathaneal? Doesn’t it send a thrill shooting through your body, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end with excitement?”

“Don’t call me that,” Nate murmured. The way Aeron spoke made said hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. “It’s Nathaniel now, or Nate if you prefer.”

Aeron watched him back, unblinking. “Not only have you given up your post as the Archangel of Fire in Heaven, you’ve given up your very name? I’m sure there is a story behind that.”

The conversation was getting too close for comfort. He knew his reactions were telling, but there was something about Aeron that Nate’s guard kept slipping and he would, impossibly, forget who he was really talking to, or _what._

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

Nate turned the conversation back to what was more important. “And if you had that Demonic audience, what do you think they would say to you incinerating one of their own over an Angel?”

Aeron easily let the change of conversation go without comment and shrugged, like incinerating four demons was of little consequence. “They wouldn’t say anything on the matter, the Demons disobeyed my orders, they deserved to be incinerated. Simple. My will is law as far as they are concerned.”

“As easy as that, huh?”

Aeron smiled, a satisfied thing. “As easy as that.” He repeated. “I’m surprised you should even ask that, considering what you are. You should understand all about following orders, Angel. You are part of the Heavenly host, are you not? You follow his Word blindly like a true creation of his.”

Nate wrinkled his nose, dismissing the jab. “Moral philosophy at the breakfast table? It’ll make the food turn the stomach.”

Aeron laughed. “You’re right, of course. Moral philosophy is banned from the breakfast table from now on. gave him a pointed look. Would you rather we talk about why the retired Archangel of Fire still has his rather impressive Angelic weapon but swears he is out of the supernatural war?”

It was Nate’s turn to shrug indifferently. “I may be a retired Archangel, but I'm not completely naïve. I use it for protection against your kind. Nor am I an idiot, I notice that said Angelic weapon is in my possession.”

“Have no fear, your sword is safe and still entirely yours. I’m not naïve either, allowing you to keep it whilst in my home would be a grave mistake. You might panic and decide to poke me with it.”

“I can’t lie, the thought did cross my mind.”

Aeron leaned forward, that smile ever growing. “Are you flirting with me, Angel?”

Nate blinked, confused. “Threatening you with stabbing is your idea of flirting?”

Aeron pursed his lips. “You mean it’s not yours? Disappointing.”

“If you say so.”

“As far as I can tell, you are a secret, bound up in a mystery just waiting to be uncovered.”

It was Nate's turn to grin. “Does that annoy your sensibilities?”

“Undeniably so,” Aeron replied in a long suffering voice. “I loathe secrets.”

“Too bad,” Nate said jovially as he stood up from the table and cast his eyes around for a clock. “You wouldn’t happen to know the time, would you? Some of us actually work for a living.”

Aeron pulled out a mobile phone from the pocket of his trousers and glanced at the screen. “It’s just gone eleven.”

Nate’s heart stuttered to a stop. “Eleven? As in eleven AM?”

Aeron waved his hand at the table. “Hence the breakfast.”

Right, stupid question. “Shit,” Nate hissed. “I am so late.”

“Angel,” Aeron said in an approving voice. “Such language.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” Nate demanded as he headed back to the bedroom he had woken up in. “I need my shoes and my sword. Like four hours ago.”

Aeron stood up too and began to clear up the table. “No need to panic, I took it upon myself to phone your precinct to let them know you won’t be coming in today due to illness.”

Nate was about to come back and help with the clear up but at those words, he froze in place like a rabbit in headlights. “You phoned my precinct?”

“Yes.”

Oh no. “And, uh, who were you put through to?” Please don’t let it be the secretary Julia, it will be all over the department in under an hour…

Despite Nate’s best efforts to play it out nonchalantly, Aeron looked like it was his birthday. Clearly Nate would be rubbish at card games. “I spoke to a very charming female officer who said her name was Harri Khalif. She seemed very relieved to hear that i had been taking good care of you in your hour of need. She asked me to pass a message along to you.”

“Oh?” Nate said faintly. 

The smile only grew more devious. “Yes, she said to rest up. No strenuous activities and you and her will be having a thorough chat about keeping things from your loyal Sargent.”

There would be no working with her after this. “Right, well. Thanks for that.” And if that came out a little sarcastic, Nate couldn’t muster up enough emotion to care.

“You’re very welcome.”

There was a pause that followed and it stretched awkwardly between them with all the things that was wrong about this scenario. An Angel and a Demon having breakfast together without killing each other. A Demon saving the life of an Angel at the expense of his own side’s gain. Said Angel not running for the stronghold to gain support and returning for vengeance in the name of a destroyed Archangel.

Strange times, indeed.

Aeron’s face underwent a change as he watched Nate. The smile disappeared and in its place was an expression that Nate had never seen before. It seemed oddly hesitant. “I’ll be working from home today, conference calls and emails and all that. If you don’t feel up to travelling, you can stay here and recuperate.”

“Oh,” Nate said, at a loss for words. The temptation to crawl into that bed and sleep some more was strong, but Nate balked at accepting it. Being unconscious and taken to Aeron’s den of inequity was one thing, being conscious and willing to stay was out of the question. “I better get back to my own place…” He trailed off, being strangely reluctant to hurt the fallen angel’s feelings. 

Aeron shrugged his shoulders. “It was just a thought. Do you want me to call you a taxi?”

Nate was about to voice a negative but then he didn’t really know his way home from here. “Yes, thank you. And if I could have my clothes and shoes back?”

“Your shoes I can deliver on. As to you shirt and jacket, they had to be thrown away. Not even my dry cleaner could salvage them, I'm afraid."

“Damn,” Nate said with feeling. He had really liked that jacket.

Aeron nodded his head at Nate. “Keep the shirt, at least until you get home. Can’t have you running about the city without a top on.”

“I’ll get it back to you, once I've washed it.” He reassured him.

Aeron shook his head as he took the dishes away and deposited them in the sink. “No need. I have plenty of shirts, I won’t notice it gone.”

“If you’re sure. Well, thank you.”

There wasn’t much more to say to that, so Nate beat a hasty retreat to the bedroom here he found his shoes, a pair of warm socks and, miracle of all miracles, his sword sitting on the bed for him.

* * *

Nate was just putting away his sword in the Ash box when there was a knock at his front door. Returning it to its rightful place hidden in the chimney flume, Nate dusted his hands off and answered the door. 

Standing on the other side of the threshold was a man in his early forties, shorter than Nate by a few inches, overweight and balding on top. He wore spectacles and a drab grey suit that was loose in the fit, making him look a little lopsided. 

Nate looked at him and felt like the floor had opened up beneath him. 

"Nathaneal," the man said cheerfully. "Long time no see." 

Nate swallowed with difficulty, his heart beating wildly in his chest. "Michael. I thought you were dealing with bureaucracy in Heaven."

"I was," he said. "But recent events on Earth have drawn me down here to you. I think it's time we had a little chat, don't you?" 

That little frisson of unease turned into full blown panic at those words. 

He was doomed.


	8. Chapter 8

There had been a time, long ago, when Nate - Nathaneal - would have given anything to be in the presence of the mighty Commander of the Angelic host Michael, to have his consideration and respect as a fellow Angelic soldier. Michael was the Angel that cast down Satan the Deceiver from Heaven during the great war, the flaming sword that ended Lucifer Morningstar’s honeyed deceit. He was the protector of Israel and, if the book of Daniel was to be taken at its word, Michael would be the one to arise during the ‘time of the end’. 

Being in his presence should have been life affirming, awe inspiring, the closest Nate could get to God’s own presence. But instead, when Nate opened his door to that benign face with the fathomless eyes of an unearthly being, he felt nothing but dread sink into his bones. With everything that had happened in the last few days and now the Archangel turning up on his doorstep, nothing good was going to come of it. Nothing good for Nate, anyway.

Nate cleared his throat, the hand on the door handle trembling uncontrollably. It felt like he was pulling words out like they were embedded inside of him like shards of broken glass. “Michael. Would you like to come in?”

Inviting him in was the last thing Nate wanted to do, but you don’t turn away the Defender of Heaven like an unwanted guest. Not if you have any value for your vessel or your angelic life. 

Michael peered past Nate’s shoulder into the apartment and a look of vague distaste crossed his features. “Ah, no, thank you. I’m sure you have a lovely home,” he said, not sounding very sure at all. “But I will never get used to how small human dwellings are. They are too claustrophobic for me. How about we take a walk around the neighbourhood, stretch our legs a little.”

The question was put across as more of an order than a genuine question and Nate had no intention of telling Michael he would rather stick hot needles in his eye. 

“I’ll just find some shoes,” Nate said as he gestured vaguely behind his shoulder and then waited for an acquiescence, but none were forthcoming. After an awkward pause where they stared at each other in confusion, Nate left the door open before he took a detour into his bedroom to find his worn running shoes. You never knew if you should be running for your life around God’s favourites.

Nate was about to head back to the door and Michael when he caught his reflection in the mirror of his wardrobe and froze in place. He was still wearing Aeron’s shirt from that morning, with its too long sleeves and baggy at the shoulders. Was it possible that Michael would know that it belonged to a Fallen Angel? Would he get any resonance of Demonic energy from the fabric or… _smell_ him on Nate? Was that a thing?

It didn’t bear thinking about. Nate whipped the shirt off and stuffed it at the back of the wardrobe before hurriedly pulling on a dark blue Henley sweatshirt, a gift from Harri at Christmas, before hurrying back to Michael.

The Archangel hadn’t budged an inch from where Nate had left him. He was still as a statue, his eyes barely blinking and, when Nate drew closer to shut the front door after him, his chest wasn’t moving to prove he was breathing. It was a common problem with Angels in newly made vessels. They weren’t used to, or forgetful, of how to blend in with humans properly, how to mimic their bodily functions and mannerisms so they didn’t stand out. 

They have never had to think in such a way before, it didn’t factor into their cosmic view of life and its priorities. 

After a glance at Nate’s new attire, Michael led the way out of Nate’s apartment building and out into the early evening of London, the Archangel seemingly picking a random direction and heading off at a brisk pace, Nate scrambling to catch up. He felt awkward at Michael's side, not knowing if silence was best until Michael talked, or to tentatively breach a topic of conversation to fill the void between them. But what was he supposed to talk about? The Brits liked to fall on the age old faithful conversation starters such as the weather they were having or expected to have later on in the week, their disbelief at the volume of traffic, or how crap the TV was of an evening, particularly at the weekends. None of these seem to be relevant to the Archangel at his side, unless Michael was a closet Killing Eve fan.

Nate couldn’t quite picture Michael watching the cat and mouse game between an assassin and the one sent to hunt her down.

Luckily Michael spared Nate the agony of indecision by speaking next. “When Raphael informed me of your decision to leave your post and live on Earth with the humans, I wondered if perhaps you had taken leave of your senses.”

“I, uh,” Nate stalled, having no real reply to the Archangel’s words. Again, it wasn’t put to Nate as a question, so Nate subsided into pained silence.

They walked along the tree lined road at a casual stroll, Nate half a step behind Michael, allowing him to lead them where he pleased. Clearly, the small grassy bank that had a small world war two memorial for an RAF squadron that was based in this area and a wooden bench next to it that constituted as a park was their destination. Michael obviously liked the look of it as he made a beeline to it and sat down, patting the space next to him as Nate remained standing.

Nate hesitated for only a moment before joining him. It wasn’t much of a view, but it took in the cross section of streets where people were walking home from work or just getting home in their cars and were flitting about their garages or their gardens, tidying up the fallen leaves that were spread across their lawns. Nate watched Michael watch the people with an expression of open curiosity and it calmed Nate’s nerves somewhat. There was none of that emptiness in Michael that seemed to eat up Sandriel’s entire existence, like a black hole leeching everything around it. If the expression was anything to go by, he didn’t view humanity as if it were a nuisance at best, or meaningless at worse. 

Michael looked at them with the curiosity of watching something new and endlessly fascinating to him. It was the first time Nate wondered if Michael had come to earth and mingled with God’s second creation on a personal level. Whether he viewed humanity, not as one of his many duties of care, but as sentient beings in their own right, with their own thoughts and emotions and a destiny. 

Michael picked up the thread of his earlier conversation again. “Whatever you thought Nathaniel, I didn’t begrudge you your decision to stay on Earth. I was there when Raphael found you in that church with the priest. I saw the damage Abraxas had inflicted upon you.”

Nate blinked, surprised at Michael's words. The ensuing rescue by his fellow Angels had been hazy to him at best. He remembered Raphael’s presence at his side, his ensuing stricken grief, being picked up off of that cold floor and the flare of agony up his wings and through his spine that made him cry out. He had no recollection of Michael ever being there with them. “I didn’t know you were there.” He said.

If Michael had been human, he would have shrugged the words off. Instead he continued to stare ahead, studiously not making eye contact with Nate. “My presence was of no importance. I thought it best that Raphael took the lead in helping your recovery. But i watched over you, in any event. I was invested in your well-being.”

Nate frowned. Back then Nate had received his orders through Michael himself, but they were never what Nate thought of as friends. He suspected Michael wouldn’t know the meaning of the word if prompted. 

“Why would you watch over me?” He asked, truly baffled.

“Why?” Michael repeated, mulling the question over. “That is a very good question. Perhaps it's because one of my own was so horribly maimed. Perhaps the idea of losing my own wings instils fear in me and I wanted to do what I could to help you through it. Or perhaps it's because the one who did the harm was once a brother of mine and I can't help but feel I shared in the blame for it.” 

When Nate had confronted Abraxas in the Church, he had known Abraxas had once been one of the first Angels, a Seraphim of the first Circle. An Archangel had no chance against a former Seraphim but the Priest’s very soul had hung in the balance and Nate had no choice but to fight for it. 

And lost spectacularly.

It prompted a question that Nate had had since he had woken up from his healing sleep and if anyone could answer it, it would be Michael. Abraxas had been in the same circle of Angels as Michael and as the older Angel had admitted, Abraxas had been his brother. “Why did Abraxas not kill me when he had the chance? He destroyed my wings, I was unconscious. Essentially helpless. There could not have been a better opportunity for him to destroy me.”

Michael turned to look at him and Nate flinched back from it. In that gaze was a well of sadness and pain and Nate found it difficult to maintain eye contact. “I don’t know if I can give you the answer you want to hear. There had been a time where no two brothers could think alike as I and Abraxas, or at least I had thought so at the time. Now look at us all. A lifetime of being on different sides, trying to kill and lay waste to each other.”

Michael looked away and Nate was able to breathe again. The Archangel continued. “If you really want my opinion, then I would have to say he left you alive because it pleased him to do so. In Abraxas’s mind, there is no bigger symbol of Angelic grace than our wings. To desecrate your wings would be more devastating than destroying you entirely.”

Nate swallowed thickly, looking out over the street. “Well, he wasn’t wrong.”

“I would have to disagree,” Michael murmured. “Our wings are a physical manifestation of our divinity. When our brothers fell during the Great War, they didn’t lose their wings, they just became corrupted. You never stopped being an Angel the moment your wings were damaged, Nathaniel, no matter what you think.”

Nate shook his head. “I couldn’t remain an Archangel in Heaven with such a disability. I was a liability, I could have gotten those around me hurt or killed.”

Michael inclined his head. “Very likely. But waging wars on the Fallen isn’t all an Angel is capable of doing. You came to Earth in what you call ‘retirement’ and yet you choose to become a police officer, protecting those in need and preventing evil from doing any great harm. What is that if not being Angelic?”

“They have an excellent pension scheme,” Nate mumbled but he understood what Michael was trying to point out. 

“I should hope so,” Michael said with a curve of his lips. “I have witnessed what the police go through when other humans are under the influence of alcohol.”

“Really?” Nate asked, a multitude of questions bubbling to the surface but Nate forced them down again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know that much about what Michael got up to in his spare time anyway. 

“While this has been a pleasant foray into your world, I didn't come all this way to simply chat with you.” Michael said.

“Ah,” Nate said and all that trepidation from seeing the Seraphim at his door came flooding back. “Of course. I know how busy you are.”

“Monumentally so, now that we are down the Archangel of London.” 

Nate’s hands clenched in the fabric of his trousers, before he forced himself to relax and smooth the material out. “Sandriel will be greatly missed.”

“Quite,” Michael answered, his tone of voice one of bemusement rather than of true sentiment. “In the end, Sandriel had lost his way. My suspicions had been piqued for a while now, and his ending only proved my suspicions to be correct.”

Nate frowned, hardly believing what he was hearing. “If you suspected Sandriel of any wrongdoing, why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“Careful, Nathaniel,” he said softly with a hint of threat that made Nate shudder in fear. His voice was like the distant rumble of thunder. “The same could be said of you. You lived in his territory, you knew he was covetous of his rank and saw you as a threat to his position. Yet you didn’t seek me out with your doubts.”

Michael was right, of course. He had every opportunity to voice his worries with Michael when it came to Sandriel’s mental state, but he hadn’t. When he left his position in Heaven, he had also washed his hands of everything Angelic. He saw himself outside the sphere of Heaven’s cares and he was no longer responsible for anyone but himself. He had essentially reduced his world to that of his home, his job and those humans he was directly linked with.

Sandriel and his territory sat firmly outside of all that. 

“Retirement means nothing to Angels, does it?” Nate asked tiredly.

Michael's lips turned up at the corners in a facsimile of a smile, but there was no real humour in it. “I don’t think there is such a thing as retirement for beings like us, Nathaniel. Certainly not for you now that Sandriel has been destroyed.”

Nate tried to not let the dismay show on his face at Michael's words. He cleared his throat before saying in a small halting voice, “I am to be recalled to Heaven then?”

He thought of leaving Earth for Heaven, having to leave the job he had grown to love, of Harri and all those he calls friends and colleagues he respected. Was five years long enough for them to remember him long after he was gone? A human’s life was so short and fleeting to an Angel who was gifted (cursed) with long memory, but it worked differently for humans themselves. Nate envied them that.

Nate didn’t want to leave them behind, to be forgotten.

“I won’t be calling you back to Heaven,” Michael replied, “I’m asking you to be the stand-in for the Archangel of London.”

Nate just stared at Michael, speechless.

“Temporary, you understand,” Michael hurried on to say. “Until we can find a more suitable Archangel to take up the mantel. Uriel has been considered for the role, but he is dealing with a tricky Demon problem in Africa at the moment.”

Uriel.

Nate turned his head away to hide his reaction at that name. Uriel was an Archangel of Death and no other title could be more apt for what he did. Nate remembered, not so long ago in an Angel’s lifetime, of fields upon fields of the dead and dying. Humans fighting each other in the name of King and country or religion, of greed masquerading as liberty. He remembered Uriel walking amongst the corpses, ambling contentedly as if he was in a field of flowers, a smile on his face that struck Nate cold to the core.

And now Uriel would be here, in London, governing a city that Nate had come to love with all of his being. 

Nate licked his suddenly dry lips. “I didn’t realise Uriel had the… credentials to be the Archangel of London. Or any territory, for that matter.”

Nate knew that Michael was watching him, but he didn’t turn to look back and meet those far-seeing eyes. “For any other territory, Uriel wouldn’t have been considered for the job. But on reflection of Sandriel’s destruction at the hands of an ArchDemon, it was thought that Uriel would be a good… fit, shall we say. The balance will once again be restored.” Michael leaned closer towards Nate, face attentive. “You wouldn’t happen to know how an ArchDemon was capable of such a thing, would you?”

_T_ _hey don’t know Aeron was a Fallen Angel,_ Nate thought with a rising bubble of hysteria. He opened his mouth to speak the truth, to lay out Aeron’s secret and have Michael bring the whole host down on London, but no sound came forth from his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the words.

“I don’t know,” Nate finally said. “It happened before I got there and the Demon wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details.”

“Pity,” Michael said, before pulling away and returning to the conversation at hand. “Your part, for the foreseeable future, is to strengthen and to influence within London’s boundaries. Sandriel had been remiss of his duties to the city as of late.”

Nate refrained from the ‘no shit’ comment. He wasn’t sure what would happen if the favourite of God’s Angels heard him casually curse like the Humans. 

“Sandriel’s lieutenants will keep the others in line. You will not be bothered in that respect. I have seen to it myself and an Angelic liaison will be in touch with you to keep the territory running as it should. Having you as an Archangel for the natural balance is all I am asking, Nathaniel. Surely you will allow that.”

In other words, Nate couldn’t say no to it without causing grave Angelic offence and risk dire consequences on his person.

“Until Uriel arrives to take up the mantel,” Nate agreed heavily. 

“I’m glad.” Michael smiled and it was like the light of Heaven bathed Nate in all of its glory. “You’ll be needing this then.”

He reached out and pressed the tips of his index and middle fingers to Nate’s forehead, heat flaring from the contact. It was a rush of celestial power, of Archangel power, that imbued Nate from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His wings shivered with feeling that energy again, his sight sharper, scents and sounds richer. 

He had forgotten what it felt like to be an Archangel. It felt like greeting an old friend and tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly to dispel them in case they fell down his cheeks. 

Michael stood up, brushing out the tiny creases in the material of his suit absentmindedly. “I hope you don’t mind this visit being so short, but I best be away.”

Nate, still disoriented, scrambled up off the seat to stand with Michael. “I understand. I hope being on earth wasn’t too unpleasant for you.”

“Unpleasant? Not at all. More like a unique little trip you might take off the beaten track.”

Michael set off in the direction of the street, but soon paused to look back at Nate, a puzzled expression on his face. “It troubles me that an ArchDemon has the power to destroy an Angel. Are they really getting so powerful that they are able to do that? Do be careful, won’t you? Uriel will arrive soon to put it all to rights but it doesn’t hurt to be mindful.”

And he left with those words ringing in Nate’s ears. To put it all to rights? Did he mean that Uriel was tasked with destroying Aeron?

Why did that thought unsettle Nate so much?

* * *

When Nate finally made it back to his flat, there was a black car idling outside of his building. Nate didn't recognise the number plate and when he got closer, the driver side door opened and out stepped a man that Nate had seen before. It was the Demon that had interrupted Nate and Aeron at the construction site, the one that looked like he could chew gravel. 

Nate stopped in his tracks and tensed, expecting a fight, but the Demon held his hands up in a sign of peace. 

"The boss sent me, with the assurance that I won't hurt you." Those eyes glint eerily in the half light as he grinned. "As long as you don't start anything first." 

It's remarkably difficult to relax in the presence of evil and Nate had to repeatedly will himself to drop out of a fighting stance. "What do you want?" 

The Demon turned and opened the passenger door of the car with a flourish of his hand. "I am here to take you to see the boss in style. He wishes to speak to you."

"Wishes to speak to me," Nate repeated. "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't a request."

The Demon smiled and it wasn't a particularly nice smile. "And they say Angels are stupid."

Nate sighed, getting a little fed up with all the pushing and shoving lately. "And if I refuse?" 

"The boss said not to hurt you, he didn't say anything about tying you up and throwing you in the backseat."

"Heathen," Nate grumbled before making his way to the car. 

"Demon," he corrected, opening the door wider. 

Nate was about to get in before he paused with a foot hovering inside and he turned back to the Demon. "Where exactly are we going?" 

The Demon shrugged. "All will be revealed once you get your feathered ass in the car."

Well, that didn't sound ominous at all. "I would just like to say that if you attempt to destroy my vessel, there will be a lot of pissed off Angels wanting to skin your hide."

The Demon gave him an unimpressed look. "Just get in the bloody car."

Nate did. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, guys. I needed go finish my Hannibal fic and get it out the way so I could focus on this one and then I sort of lost the thread of where this was going. But I'm back in the saddle and I hope you enjoy the new chapter.

  
Nate wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he stepped foot inside the Demon’s car, but clean leather upholstery and the ‘alpine fresh’ scent from the air freshener wasn’t it. The bot too distant whiff of sulfur perhaps, the ambient sounds of screaming souls in the burning fires of Hell playing over the airwaves of the radio, most definitely. 

  
Nate sat as close to the door as possible, his hand resting on his bouncing leg, fingers twitching towards the door handle in the event that the demon chauffeur starts speeding or made any shifty movement that would send his survival instincts into overdrive.

  
Those catlike eyes stared at him in the rear view mirror and Nate knew he was being laughed at. “Do you want some refreshments during the drive, Angel? My master keeps his car well stocked with alcohol.”

  
Nate cleared his throat pointedly. “No, thank you. I’m still on duty.”

  
“Shame,” The Demon said, turning his eyes back to the road. 

  
Nate let the silence stretch in front of them before he couldn’t take it anymore. “Where exactly are we going?”

  
“To meet my master.”

  
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I got that, thank you. Is he at his office?”

  
The Demon’s voice never changed from its deadpan tone. “Of course not. It's the end of the working day. He has a life outside of human business.”

  
“So where are we going then?”

  
“To have dinner.”

  
Nate’s brain stuttered and went straight to a dark place without much preamble. “...Am I the dinner?”

  
This time the Demon did laugh. “My master would like that, but no. It will be Human food.”

  
Before Nate could question him further, the Demon slowed and pulled over in front of a glass fronted building with monochrome signage that read ‘Positano’ in sweeping calligraphy. It was lit up in soft ambient light and beautiful glass and stainless steel tables where couples dressed to the nines sat and ate from delicate looking plates and cutlery. 

  
Nate’s wallet gave a whimper of despair at the thought of the bill.

  
“Oh God,” Nate murmured.

  
“Blasphemy is very much welcomed in this car,” The Demon replied. “But you should get out now. He’s waiting for your arrival.”

  
“Is it too late for you to turn around and drop me back where you found me?” Nate asked, eyes practically glued to the restaurant in dismay.

  
“Get out of my damned car before I kick you out,” The demon said gruffly, his hands going to his seat belt as if he would jump out of the car and make good on his words. 

  
“Fair enough,” Nate grumbled and did just that. He barely had enough time to shut the door behind him before the Demon revved his engine and shot back out into the early evening traffic with a blair of his horn.

  
Nate sighed softly and squared his shoulders before walking through the door. The most amazing smells hit his senses as he stepped over the threshold and his stomach gave a loud growl to announce how hungry his vessel was. 

  
There was a young male concierge in a smart suit waiting at the front desk. The man took Nate in with a quick glance without inflection and said, “Nathaniel Danvers? Your dinner companion is here, I can show you to your table.”

  
Nate wondered briefly what Aeron had said to the concierge so he knew who to look out for, before he followed the young man through the restaurant to the back where the tables were more secluded than others with their own high backed deep purple coloured velvet circular booths and pristine white clothed tables.

  
The concierge led him to a table where Aeron was already at, looking for all the world as relaxed and in his element. He was dressed in black suit trousers and a charcoal silk shirt that was open at the throat. He was striking as he reclined in his seat, all dark hair and pale skin. Those mercurial eyes had watched Nate the moment he had entered the building, an expression on those sharp features that Nate had not seen before.

  
Aeron stood up in a smooth motion and nodded to the concierge. “Thank you, Tom. A bottle of the house red with two glasses, if you please.”

  
“Sir,” the concierge nodded, before leaving them both alone. 

  
And just like that, Nate became painfully aware of their surroundings, that he was meeting a fallen angel for dinner like this was - what? Friends meeting to enjoy food and good conversation together? In a restaurant that was predominantly made up of very refined human couples staring lovingly at each other over crystal cut glasses and flickering candle light.

  
What exactly was this supposed to be?

  
Aeron held his arm out to the opposite side of the booth in invitation. “Please sit.”

  
Nate stared at the seat a moment before he came forward and sat at the offered seat. Raising an eyebrow at Aeron, he said, “Your chauffeur wasn’t very forthcoming as to why you wanted to meet with me. Here. At a fancy restaurant surrounded by the rich and very human diners.”

  
Aeron raised an eyebrow. “Human, you say?”

  
Nate didn’t like the tone of his voice, or the implication. Nate turned his head back to the room and was dismayed to see half the room turned to stare at their table, their eyes catching eerily in the candlelight. It sent a thrum of weariness through him and he concentrated on the diners, on reaching out to them with a brush of his Grace.

  
And recoiled.

  
They weren’t Demons. The moment he stepped foot inside the restaurant, he would have felt their presence like oil over water. Like ice against his spine, sharpened nails at his throat. Now that his attention had been drawn to them, whatever they were, they felt like absence. Absence of feeling, of thought, of life. 

  
Nate’s hands curled into fists on the tabletop, his heart hammering in his chest. “What are they?”

  
There was a touch to his fist, stealing Nate’s attention from their audience to Aeron’s hand covering his own. His touch was dry and warm and it sent shivers along his skin at the contact. The fingers smoothed Nate’s hand out so it wasn’t clenched but laid flat to the surface. 

  
Aeron had leant forward across the table and his gaze was direct when Nate’s met them. “You need not act so wary, they will not harm you.”

  
“Aeron,” he said slowly, articulately. “What are they?”

  
Aeron watched Nate closely. “They are those that traded their souls to Demons for a little piece of the good life and now they are contracted to me to do what I tell them to.”

  
Nate flinched and pulled his hand away, his skin growing cold from the absence of that touch. “And you have them in this restaurant, why exactly?”

  
Aeron pulled his hand back as he sat in the opposite chair, motioning to the soulless so they turned back to their food. Nate felt like he could breathe easier once those eyes were no longer on him “I hear that congratulations are in order.”

  
Nate narrowed his eyes on Aeron. “Congratulations?”

  
Aeron inclined his head with a wicked smile. “On your promotion,” he repeated. Aeron’s eyes traced Nate’s profile and Nate got the unsettling impression that he wanted to reach out and touch him again. “You’re practically glowing with that shiny Grace of yours, like stars beneath your skin.”

  
The regard was uncomfortable to Nate, he felt like his whole being was laid bare to Aeron’s perusal no matter how hard he tried to hide himself. Protect himself from those eyes. “Are the soulless your bodyguards now? Do you think you need protecting from me?”

  
Aeron laughed, the sound deep and pleasant to his ears. “One can never tell what an Archangel of London will do when you get him alone. It seemed logical that I take precautions. The soulless are bound to Hell so they will act if I demand it and you, being the Angel that you are, would think twice about bringing harm to a human, regardless of the state of their soul.”

  
Well, Aeron had him there. “Yet you still wanted to meet with me, despite your misgivings about Archangels,” Nate pointed out and then frowned, a question crossing his mind. “How did you even know that I became the Archangel of London anyway?” 

  
Aeron’s smile only grew more smug at Nate’s confusion. “When one from the exalted ranks of the Seraphim deigns to enter my territory without my express permission, I make it my priority to know what they are doing and who they are talking to.”

  
“You mean one of your little spies tattled.”

  
"I mean it's incredibly difficult not to notice a power signature like Michael's when he decides to grace Earth with his Heavenly presence," Aeron returned mildly. "My spy, as you put it, merely came to me with the report of seeing you and our esteemed trespasser having a friendly chat in a park.”

  
Nate sputtered. “You can’t call Micheal that. It’s beneath him.”

  
Aeron smirked. “Why not? I simply state the truth, he entered my territory without permission. He’s a sneaky one, that Micheal.”

  
Nate couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “And once again we are back to your inflated ego. I hate to break it to you but the Angels of London don’t need your permission to come and go. And I would appreciate it if both Hell and you would mind your own business.”

  
“No can do, i’m afraid,” Aeron said in a tone that should be contrite but was anything but.”As the newly minted Archangel of London, you and I are bound together, now more than ever.”

  
His words pulled Nate up short. Bound. It snet awareness dancing across his skin. “What are you saying?”

  
“We are counterparts, you and I. You are the Archangel of London, I am Hell’s equivalent for London. The very balance of the city’s soul lay in our hands. There cannot be a London without the two of us acting as a balance.”

  
Nate’s gut twisted. “You didn’t share that sentiment with Sandriel. In fact, you seemed to take great enjoyment from destroying that balance in the first place.”

  
They were interrupted by the arrival of the concierge coming back with their wine. He poured a drop of the deep red into Aeron’s glass and allowed him to taste test. Aeron picked the glass up by the stem and swirled the wine before taking a sip and letting it linger in his mouth before gulping, all the while keeping eye contact with Nate. He hummed. “It’s perfect, Tom, as always.”

  
“Thank you, sir,” the concierge practically glowed with the compliment. He proceeded to pour them both a glass before leaving it between them in a wine cooler. “Would you like to take a look at the menu now, sirs?”

  
Nate shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, I won't be staying long.”

  
Aeron smiled at the concierge, completely ignoring Nate. “Yes please, Tom.”

  
The concierge didn’t bat an eye, disappearing momentarily to collect two glossy menus and placing them on the table before melting away.

  
“Now you’re just being an asshole,” Nate hissed.

  
“Language, Angel,” Aeron hummed as he turned his attention to the menu in front of him. “I recommend the wild mushroom risotto, the chefs here know how to properly cook arborio rice.”

  
“I mean it, I won't be staying long.”

  
Again, Aeron ignored him. “”Getting back to our earlier conversation, we both know Sandriel didn’t count.”

  
Nate felt that he was going to need the wine for this. He picked the glass up and took more than a generous gulp. He wasn’t a wine connoisseur, but it tasted good. “Go one then, enlighten me. How doesn’t Sandriel count?”

  
Aeron raised his eyebrows at him. “Isn’t it obvious? We can’t have two self serving, egotistical bastards at the helm, it upsets the balance.”

  
Nate toasted him. “There is nothing in that sentence that I wouldn’t agree with.”

  
“I thought you might,” Aeron returned. “How hungry are you?”

  
The question threw Nate off for a second. “I- how hungry am I?”

  
Aeron glanced up. “Did you want a starter or did you want to skip straight to the main meal?”

  
For the first time since it was brought to him, Nate glanced down at the menu in front of him and scanned the choices. There was an array of weird and wonderful dishes that made his mouth instantly water, until his eyes zeroed in on the prices and he balked. The prices of one of the starters was the cost of the shoes he was wearing. “Oh, um. Like I said, I won’t be staying long.”

  
“You don’t need to panic, Detective. I invited you, i’m buying.”

  
Nate shifted in his chair with discomfort. “You don’t need to do that.”

  
Aeron looked up from his own menu. “You’ll soon find out that I rarely do something I don’t want to. Say you’ll have dinner with me.”

  
Before Nate could reply, the concierge appeared at their table. “Are you ready to order, sirs?”

  
Aeron didn’t look away from Nate. “Have dinner with me, Nate.”

  
Why did that have to sound so formal? Like Nate was agreeing to something far more serious than sharing a meal?

  
Nate swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Alright.”

  
The answering smile was electric and it was like a punch to Nate’s gut. “Good.” He turned to the concierge. “I’ll have the salmon to start, followed by the steak, cooked medium to rare. My friend here will have the cheese souffle and the wild mushroom risotto.”

  
“Good choices, sir,” The concierge said, before taking the menus back and off he went again.” 

  
Nate smiled sardonically. “Vegetarian dishes?”

  
Aeron shrugged. “You had a vegetarian stir fry when i saw you at the chinese takeaway. I assumed you were vegetarian, was I wrong?”

  
Nate blinked, taken aback. The takeaway incident had been a week ago, Nate had no idea Aeron had known what he had ordered or even retained the memory of it. “You’re right, of course, most Angels are.” Nate bit his lip from saying anymore. 

  
Aeron’s gaze dropped to his lips and caught, before skittering away to his wine glass like he thought it was terribly interesting. “Though if my opinions are worth anything, I think you should try meat at least once, Angel. There’s nothing quite like the taste of cooked well that gets the taste buds dancing.”

  
Nate waved his words away airily. “I think I'll pass on the bloody hunk of cow, thank you. You can keep your steak and I'll have my mushroom risotto.”

  
“Your loss,” Aeron said easily. He reached for the wine bottle and topped them both up. “So, Micheal came to visit you with the good news.”

  
Nate paused with his wine glass halfway to his mouth, staring at Aeron, before groaning and putting the glass back on the table with a ringing thud. “Right. I should have known what this was about. Call it stupidity for the slow uptake.”

  
Aeron looked innocently back at him. “What? What did I say?”

  
Nate waved his hand around to incorporate the room they were in. “This. The pick up by your demonic chauffeur, this fancy restaurant, the good wine, the food that I'm sure will taste amazing. This is all provided by you to loosen me up and get me to tell you all about what Micheal had to say.”

  
He should be angry with Aeron. Livid that Aeron that he could manipulate Nate so easily as that, so obviously, that Nate really was that stupid that he would fall for it and spill everything he had over a coupke glasses of wine to the enemy for God’s sake -

  
But he wasn’t angry with Aeron. Amused at the audacity of it, perhaps a little bit. Exasperated, oh most definitely. Aeron was a Fallen One, after all. Manipulation was their favourite game to play. 

  
Aeron scoffed. “Please, Detective. I wouldn’t be so crass as to ply you with very good wine simply loosen your tongue. It’s beneath us, you and I. I was merely providing conversation while we wait for our starters to arrive.”

  
“Uh huh,” Nate said, voice thick with disbelief. 

  
“It just seems odd to me that the First of heaven would come down from his perch to give you the news of your promotion in person. You can’t blame me for wanting to know a little more detail. You would if you were in my shoes.”

  
When Aeron put in those terms, it probably did look a little odd to an outsider. “Temporary promotion,” he said instead. 

  
Aeron tilted his head in inquiry. “Temporary?”

  
Nate shrugged. “I’m filling in until Micheal can find another Angel who is willing and more qualified to pick up the mantle of the London territory. Or, more specifically, someone willing to take you on.” 

  
Aeron didn’t seem to register the light jab, mind stuck on the earlier part of his reply. “Temporary. Why would your role be temporary?”

  
“You can’t be surprised by that, surely. I came to Earth to leave the Angelic war behind me. My… disability has left me very little choice in the matter. Becoming the Archangel of London drags me back into it all and I can't do it. I- I won’t.”

  
And why did he have to go and mention his disability like that? Perhaps the wine was a very good call on Aeron’s part to loosen his tongue. 

  
A new waiter appeared at their table with their starters, unerringly placing the right dish in front of them, before nodding and leaving them to it. 

  
The food smelled amazing and Nate nearly fumbled with the fork with how fast he picked it up to dig in. Souffles were supposed to be difficult to cook right, Nate was sure he read that in one of the Human magazines, but the starter here was done to perfection. Nate murmured his enthusiastic approval. 

  
After the third bite, he became aware that he was being watched. Sheepishly, he grinned. “It’s good.”

  
“Music to my ears,” Aeron said before starting on his own food. He turned the conversation back to the more serious matter. “What I find surprising is Heaven allowing you any sort of free will in this matter. As I recall from my time as one of God’s sons, free will was a dirty concept and it caused a whole war that got me kicked out.”

  
Nate shifted in his chair, keeping his eyes on his plate. “It’s not so much free will as cutting loose the weakest link in the chain. Your side did a number on me, it’s easier if I stuck to the sidelines. It was agreed as a solution.” The weakness was painful to admit, particularly to Aeron.

  
“Is that what you consider yourself? The weakest link in the chain?”

  
“You know I am.” Nate said as he felt the stirrings of real anger at the prodding of old wounds. “I would appreciate it if we could change the subject now, thank you.”

  
“You know being an Angel is about more than the wings, right?” Aeron asked nonchalantly, like they were conversing about the weather rather than the worst thing to have ever happened to Nate in his whole existence.

  
He tried to keep his voice calm and even. “I know that. Just as you know that catastrophic damage done to an Angel’s wings means they can’t fight in the air, can’t maneuver fast enough to be any good in a warrior cohort, can’t be any use in Heaven.” He dumped the fork down onto the plate, making it ring loudly. “So you tell me how I can possible be effective by being the Archangel of London.”

  
That was too much. His anger had overtaken him, bared too much of his bitterness to censure, his insecurities laid out to a Fallen Angel who could do the most damage with it. Nate wanted to take it all back, swallow it all back down like a bitter pill and bury it like he had been doing for the last five years 

  
But time, despite his best efforts, marched on before them and Nate is left with the embarrassing feeling of wanting to cry. He wasn’t taking good care of his vessel, clearly. The last few days had been incredibly trying, emotionally as well as physically. He was tired, drained, and the dread of what is to come laid heavy in his heart.

  
For the first time since coming to Earth, he was unsure of his place in the human world, unsure of what his future held and what it could mean for the people around him. Good people, people he had come to care about and were incredibly vulnerable against celestial beings. 

  
Some of what he was feeling must have shown on his face because Aeron set his own cutlery down and let his hands rest palm down on the table, so close to Nate’s own that their fingertips nearly brushed together.

  
Nate was gripped by the ridiculous urge to breach the distance, let their fingers touch for a moment. He had a brief moment to wonder what Aeron would do, if he would let his fingers stay where they are or retract them in disgust at being touched willingly by an Angel.

  
Now there’s a thought. Wouldn’t it be the icing on the cake if Nate was to be the one to instigate another round of Angelic warfare by acting on idiotic impulsions after two glasses of wine and some bad news.

  
Aeron caught his eyes and pinned Nate in his place. “You think Micheal would come all this way just to deliver some news to you in person if he didn’t think you weren’t up to the task he has given you? That he would put the city of London in danger of Demons overwhelming the population? I know your smart, Nathaneal. You can’t possibly think that. All that bullshit about your disability making you useless to Heaven, that sounds like something Sandriel would spout.”

  
Coincidentally, that was exactly what Sandriel would say and had said. But it was this very reason that had kept Nate safe from Sandriel treating him like a direct threat to his powerbase in London in the first place. It was what Nate had painstakingly projected every time they happened to be in the same room together, a former Archangel who could just about tie his shoelaces together without the help of his peers from above.

  
Not that Nate would admit any of that to Aeron anytime soon. He had done enough of that already. 

  
Nate clenched his jaw tight to the point that his teeth hurt, his voice low and rough with memory. “You weren’t there when I fought Abraxas and he set my wings alight with Hellfire. You didn’t see the damage it did to me, the pain and effort it took to keep what little was left of my wings. If he had used it any longer, there wouldn’t have been anything left to save but ash.”

  
Aeron watched him with those unreadable eyes and Nate wished he could glimpse whatever the fallen angel was thinking. “You’re right, I wasn't there with you when it happened. But I know Abraxas and I know how thorough a job he can do when it comes to hurting Angels. Targeting an Angel’s wings, arguably the most profound symbol of God’s good Grace, would have amused him.”

  
“I know,” Nate said, remembering that eerie laugh right before he lost consciousness. 

  
“But now i’m getting to know you and you wouldn’t have gotten this far without having a strong backbone, some semblance of intelligence and a strong moral compass you Graceful idiots love to bang on about every given moment.”

  
Nate couldn’t stop staring. “Do my ears deceive me or did you just give me a backhanded compliment?”

  
Aeron paused in cleaning his plate off before, so nonchalantly that it wasn’t very nonchalant at all, he said, “I might have. Does a compliment from a fallen angel offend your delicate sensibilities?”

  
Nate threw him a sardonic eye roll before replying in a flat sarcastic voice, “Oh dear, however will I bear such indignity.”

  
“With great fortitude, I imagine.” And Aeron smiled.

  
Nate felt like he took a sucker punch right to the gut. The smile lit his whole face up and it was radiant, like sunshine against his skin. In that moment, Nate could envisage what he would have looked like as one of the celestials in Heaven before the Fall, and Aeron had never been more beautiful. It almost hurt to look at him, Nate’s throat ached with the feeling and it was a wrench to tear his eyes away from that face.

  
Thankfully the server saved him from forming a reply when he came back to their table to clear the empty plates away. Nate pretended to watch the server’s progress to get himself back under calm control before he had a mild panic attack over it. 

  
That reaction, whatever it was he just felt, could not bode well for the future. Not for Nate. Not for anyone. 

  
“Are you alright?” Aeron asked, never seeming to miss any change in Nate’s expression. Nate inwardly cursed his poor poker face. 

  
Nate smiled in reassurance. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  
He grabbed his wine glass and took a big gulp and Aeron’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

  
Nope. Didn’t bode well at all.


	10. Chapter 10

  
_“Can you hear me, Nathaniel?”_

  
_The distant voice swept in on Nathaniel's consciousness on a sea of molten agony. Every nerve ending was screaming at him, lit up like the dying stars in the fabric of the universe, and Nate wanted to scream right along with it. Every breath he took, every involuntary twitch of muscle, sent that rolling pain through his body and it threatened to send him headfirst into the abyss all over again._

  
_“Open your eyes. Nathaniel, open your eyes. Can you do that for me?”_

  
_Nathaniel tried to do what the voice asked of him but it felt like his eyelids were weighted down and no amount of trying lifted that weight off. Besides, the last time he had opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sightless stare of the unfortunate priest._

  
_But thinking of the priest meant thinking of Abraxas, and thinking of Abraxas meant thinking of his- of his wings._

  
_Don’t make me open my eyes. Not yet. Not yet._

  
_“Open your eyes, Nathaniel. When you open your eyes, you will feel no pain. I swear it.”_

  
_The voice was too persuasive to not do as it bid._

_His eyelids fluttered and opened, blinking into blinding white light that encased the whole of his body. And just as the voice said, that molten hot agony was gone. The relief was almost euphoric, his whole body floated on that absent feeling of pain throbbing through his back and down his wings. There was a reason why he was in pain, what was it, what could have happened-_

  
_Abraxas. The Priest. Hellfire._

  
_No._

  
_No no no no no no no no!_

  
_His gaze sharpened against the flare of light that wreathed him, allowed his sight to adjust to the glow, and saw movement behind it. A figure, hovering just behind the light. Unobtrusive. Waiting._

  
_Nathaniel concentrated on that figure, trying to keep back the memories from overwhelming him and throwing him back into that painful darkness. “Where am I?”_

  
_The figure came closer and NathanIel could just make out wings of pure silver light, shimmering and flickering like fire, and he knew without being told that this was the Angel of Healing, Raphael._

  
_“You are in Heaven,” the voice said, and even their voice was like a balm to his ears. “You are safe now, No harm will come to you here.”_

  
_Of that, he had no doubt. Raphael may be the Angel of healing, but if anyone came between him and his charge, there would be nothing left of them._

  
_“What of the harm that has come before now?” Nathaniel asked, the words being pulled from him like blood from stone. He wanted answers but at the same time, he feared what the answer was. “What of- What of my wings?”_

  
_There was a pause in the reply and Nathaniel felt the weight of it in his being, felt it overtake the euphoria and left him feeling unbearably cold._

  
_“I did what was in my power,” Raphael finally answered. “I stopped the fire from spreading and healed what I could. But the damage has been done.”_

  
_Nathaniel sat up, motions slow and careful, ready for the burst of pain to start all over again, but he felt nothing._

  
_A worrying absence of anything._

  
_“I want to see.” He said, voice wavering. “I want to see them.”_

  
_Nathaniel saw Raphael’s form flicker in indecision. “Are you sure?”_

  
_“Yes.”_

  
_The light around him changed, solidified, until Nathaniel saw his reflection in those rays, and he wished he could take his words back. To turn his head away from the sight that he now presented, utterly disgusted with himself._

  
_His wings were once an amber gold and, when a certain light would hit them, they looked like they were a flame. It befitted the Archangel of Fire, burning with the flame of God in his very feathers._

  
_But now they were nothing more than a charred mess. Large areas were missing completely, including his primary feathers for flight. What was left of the secondary feathers were scorched to an ashy pitch. The muscles and joints that made up the expanse of his wings were a livid pink and thickened with scarring, right down to the bones and skin of his back._

  
_He would never fly again._

  
_The sound that he made rent the air like a wound. For the first time in his existence, Nathaniel cried for himself._

* * *

  
“You look different.”

  
Nate glanced up from the case log in front of him on the desk to see Harri squinting at him from the doorway. He blinked at her, suddenly feeling self conscious. “I do?”

  
Harri squinted harder, like she was viewing a particularly interesting specimen under her microscope. “Yeah. Have you gotten a haircut? Styled your hair differently maybe?”

  
Nate touched his hair. It was getting a little longer than usual, but that was because he hadn’t had the time to book an appointment. “No, I’ve done nothing different to it-”

  
“A new suit, then.”

  
“You’ve seen this one before.”

  
Harri clicked her fingers and pointed at him. “I got it. Your skin.”

  
Now Nate was worried. “My skin?”

  
“Yeah, you look fresh as a daisy,” she waved her hand to indicate her face. “All glowy and clear. Have you changed your skincare routine or something?”

  
Ah. He should have pre-empted that his bumped up Grace would cause humans to notice and should have taken great pains to cover it up. “What’s a skincare routine?”

  
Harri rolled her eyes at him. “It’s the twenty-first century, sir. Men can have skincare routines without being called a ponce, I promise.”

  
“Silly me,” Nate returned with a small smile. “I’ll get right on that.”

  
“You do that,” Harri grinned. “But seriously, you look good. Like you actually slept last night. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

  
Nate shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Well, thanks, I guess,” he said, cursing that annoying habit of not being able to outright lie to Harri, being an Angel and all. He hadn’t slept well last night, plagued with dreams of memories he rather not think about. But he wasn’t exactly going to own up to the truth of his bright eyed look either.

  
The very idea of that conversation brought on the start of a headache. 

  
Nate changed the topic. “While I'm very flattered by your compliments, it still doesn’t mean I’m letting you off the Helinski case.”

  
Harri groaned. “Oh, come on. Helinski is a whiny drug dealing thug that loves being in cuffs far too much.”

  
Nate scoffs. “That’s not true, I think he likes you putting him in handcuffs.” 

  
Harri made a face at him. “Okay, first of all: ew. Second of all, I’m a young professional woman, you shouldn’t be putting me in that position to begin with. Sexual harassment in the work place is a big no-no.”

  
“I’m more worried about you knocking his teeth out than Helinski trying to bad touch you,” Nate said seriously, and then grinned goodnaturedly at her. 

  
Her lips twitched upwards, pushing herself away from his desk. “You’re a hard taskmaster, boss. But I'll do my job like a good minion.”

  
“I expect nothing less,” he said as he fondly watched her head out of the door of the precinct. 

  
His phone buzzed against his leg with an incoming text and he fished it out of his pocket. He half expected it to be Harri with another halfhearted complaint, but when he glanced at the screen, he didn’t recognise the number. Frowning, he opened up the message and stared at it for a long moment, trying to make sense of it. 

  
_We should have dinner again sometime._

  
The words seemed to dance on the screen and Nate had to blink a couple of times to make proper sense of them. It didn’t take much brain power to work out who had sent the text. Which just begs the question…

  
_How did you get my private mobile number?_

  
The reply came almost instantly. _I’m from Hell, remember? It’s my job._

  
Which didn’t answer his question at all, but was he expecting exactly? From Hell indeed.

  
Nate didn’t know how to reply to that, or even if he should reply to it in the first place. The weight of the position he now found himself in was incredibly heavy, regardless of how temporary it was going to be. Temporary, in an immortal’s vocabulary, could either mean weeks or even decades. Nate couldn’t tell how long he would be forced to shoulder the responsibility and that not knowing was killing him. 

  
And Nate got the feeling that communicating on a regular basis the enemy was a big no-no for the Archangel of London.

  
But Aeron took the decision out of his hands by sending another text. _Have dinner with me._

  
Nate chewed on the lid of his pen before finally replying: _I don’t think that’s such a good idea, do you?_

  
_I think it’s a great idea._

  
Nate scoffed aloud. _Of course you would._

  
_What’s a little dinner between two enemies anyway._

  
Nate sobered at those words, considered his options, and texted him back. _That’s rather the point, isn’t it? A fallen Angel and an Archangel going to dinner together. The irony is almost amusing if it didn’t get us into a lot of trouble. Treasonable trouble._

  
The reply took a little longer than the previous ones and Nate found himself continually checking his phone in case he had missed the text alert.

  
_Who's to say that dinner couldn’t be both business as well as pleasure?_

  
Pleasure. For some reason that word lit Nate’s cheeks on fire and he fidgeted in his seat. How so?

  
_Having dinner together in a human restaurant means we don’t escalate situations to be noticed and its on neutral ground for the both of us. It allows us to keep an eye on each other, particularly after the Sandriel fiasco. We wouldn’t want one of us to get out of hand and trying to start another Angelic war on Earth now, would we? :)_

  
That smiley face was completely unnecessary, but Aeron did have a point. 

  
_To keep the balance?_

  
_To keep the balance._

  
So a very good point, actually. Could Heaven really argue against Nate meeting with Aeron to make sure London is stable after the chaotic ending of Sandriel’s time? London and the humans within its territory was Nate’s priority first and foremost. If Micheal didn’t like what he was doing then he could appoint someone else for the job. 

  
Nate just hopes he was not talking himself into something incredibly stupid.

  
But he still hesitated. His reply box glared at him and his indecision gave him a nervous tick.

  
Again, Aeron texted him first: _Come on, Angel. It’s dinner and a bit of conversation. What have you got to lose?_

  
What has he got to lose? Everything he had built since coming to Earth. His job, the friends he had made, the life he has made for himself. His freedom. His sanity. 

  
But what the hell. He had enjoyed the delicious food and the company was tolerable, he supposed. And he couldn’t deny that there was a rebellious streak in him that balked at being forced back into being an Archangel despite his protests. 

  
_Alright. When and where?_

  
_Tomorrow at 7pm. There’s a nice little Italian restaurant on Everington street._

  
Nate raised his eyebrows. _That’s three streets away from where I live._

  
_What a happy coincidence. Don’t be late._

  
_Don’t be a condescending asshole_ , he replied back.

  
_Language Angel. Everyone would think I was rubbing off on you._

  
Nate snorted at that, before sliding the phone back into his trouser pocket before getting back to his work.

  
He had just made dinner plans with a fallen Angel. This whole leader of a territory thing was going swimmingly. 

* * *

  
Nate wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew Michael had deliberately downplayed how involved Nate would be but he didn’t think that paperwork would be part of the job description.

  
He had just come off of a twelve hour shift that had involved a drug bust of a family who had converted their attic into a cannabis growing factory that could quite possibly produce enough wacky backy for the entirety of Kensington.

  
He was looking forward to stripping out of his suit and sleeping on the couch in front of the television when he saw two people loitering outside of his front door.

  
As he came closer, he recognised the shorter one to be the female Angel who had been the one to greet Nate when he came to Earth and showed him to his new home. She was a pretty blonde with soft delicate features and seemed to be gripping several A4 folders to her chest like her life depended on it. 

  
Perhaps it did, judging by the angry scowl on her companion’s face. Compared to the dainty blonde, the male Angel was a good head and shoulders taller and was impressively broad. He looked like he could bench press a van without breaking so much as a sweat. He had dark hair buzzed short and eyes that were a very light blue they appeared grey. 

  
The blonde Angel spotted him first and she gave a nervous smile, her arms tightening around the folders. “Nathaniel, Sir.”

  
Nate winced on both accounts. The use of Nathaniel from another Angel was like opening old wounds and adding salt and the use of ‘sir’ was just too formal. “Nathaniel is fine, thank you. And you are?”

  
“Charmeine,” she bobbed her head in a bow. “And this is Xapham, Sandriel’s second in command of the territory.”

  
Nate glanced at Xapham and the Angel did nothing but stare at Nate like he was worse than the dirt on his shoes. There was a lot of animosity in that gaze and Nate just met that look with a bland one of his own. It wasn’t an entirely new experience to have that type of reaction from other Angels towards him. A lot of them were personally affronted that Nate would give up such a high ranking post in Heaven to play Detective with the humans and no amount of understanding of his disability or explaining on his part would ever change that. Nate had grown tired of trying.

  
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit,” Nate said to Charmeine, completely blanking the second in command. 

  
Xapham stiffened in indignation and Charmeine’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Um. Michael explained the situation that you were to be an Archangel in the interim of deciding who would be a permanent fixture for the territory. I’m to be your liaison with the other Angels,” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Or if you would prefer a more hands on approach-”

  
Xapham finally spoke, his voice clipped and agitated. “Michael has given the orders already, Nathaniel is to be simply a figurehead and no more.”

  
‘Figurehead’ was loaded with so much venom that it practically dripped with it. Nate felt the stirrings of his anger but he pushed it down and returned the ire with the sunniest smile that would blinded a human. “Sounds perfect to me. Is that all?”

  
Charmeine thrust the folders at Nate, clearly hating the tension between the two of them and wanting to get it over and done with. “These documents need to be read and signed by you.”

  
Nate took the documents and looked at them with dismay. “What am I signing?”

  
“Michael thought it would be best that, after what had happened with - with Sandriel, that everything needs to be documented and approved by you and Michael.”

  
Nate couldn’t help himself. “Ah, so Xapham has his panties in a bunch because he’s being nannied-”

  
Xapham hissed a breath through his clenched teeth and took a step towards Nate, a threatening gesture if Nate ever saw one. “We do not need some weak cripple to nanny us like we are nothing more than wayward children-”

  
Nate didn’t even think to do it. He just lashed out with his grace and gripped Xapham in a vice like hold that made him choke and freeze where he stood, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief as he tried to fight back. It was useless to even try for an Angel to fight against an Archangel but Nate commended the effort all the same.

  
“It seems like you do need nannying, Xapham. How long had Sandriel acted out past his order parameters? You were his second, closer to him than anyone, and yet you allowed his actions to go unquestioned.”

  
He tightened his hold on Xapham and blood began to drip from his nose. “Or perhaps you enjoyed the idea of a fight on Earth just as much as he did, humans be damned. Was that the case, Xapham? Should I be keeping a close eye on you?”

  
“Nathaniel, please…” Charmeine’s voice was high and thready with fear and it penetrated Nate’s anger.

  
Slowly he released Xapham and the Angel fell to his knees panting for breath and trembling. Nate bent down so they were at eye level. “You will be nannied by a weak cripple like me until the time comes for the changeover of another Archangel to take the job. You don’t have to like it, I certainly don’t. But I will do it regardless and you will obey and if you ever threaten me again, I will crush you until you know nothing but pain, do I make myself clear?”

  
Xapham looked at him and had the common sense to believe him. “Yes, Nathaniel.”

  
Nate stood up. “Glad to hear it. I’m sure Charmeine is more than capable of finishing this up without your presence.” 

  
Xapham didn’t need to be told twice. He stood up slowly, giving a bow of the head, and walked away on unsteady legs.

  
Nate breathed in deeply, settling himself back into the placid Detective again. He turned back to Chameine who was staring at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have done it in front of you.”

  
Charmeine licked her lips nervously. “It was necessary. Xapham shouldn’t have done that.”

  
“No, he shouldn’t,” Nate agreed. “But I want you to know that I won't harm you. I-”

  
How do you explain to someone so you and innocent that this wasn’t who you really were, that being an Archangel was violent and terribly powerful and he wanted nothing to do with it. “I just want to get this over and done with so I can go back to being me again.”

  
Charmeine watched him wearily but the fear was dissipating. “I understand,” she said, but Nate wandered if she just said that in order to appease him. 

  
He looked down at the folders in his hands again. “This will take a while for me to read over and sign.”

  
“I can come back tomorrow to pick them up if you’d like,” she offered.

  
Nate smiled gratefully. “That would be great, thank you. If you could come in the afternoon, that would be fine.”

  
“Yes, Nathaniel,” she said and bowed her head before exiting the way Xapham had gone.

  
“Chameine,” he called after her and she turned back to him. “If Xapham starts to act out, or any other Angel voice any of Sandriel’s more radical opinions, I want to hear of it. There won’t be a war on Earth, not as long as I exist.”

  
Charmeine nodded. “I will. I- I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Nathaniel. Xapham can be a little hot tempered, but he did argue against the fight. But Sandriel. He just didn’t want to listen to him.”

  
Nate could readily believe that of Sandriel, and he was willing to trust Charmeine on Xapham as she knew him better. “Still, I would like to hear if anything does crop up.”

  
“I will,” she said again and disappeared from view. 

  
Nate sighed and glanced down at the folders in his hands, grimacing. “Even Heaven has paperwork, who would have thought.”

  
Tucking it under his arm, Nate unlocked the door and was finally home.

* * *

  
The days soon turned to weeks and Nate was beginning to get to grips with the London territory. Despite Sandriel’s warmongering, he had made the Angelic protection for life across London a well oiled machine. Nate didn’t have to do much other than sign off on their reports or giving them permission to slap down a Demon or two who got a little too confident.

  
Charmeine was true to her word. She played liaison between Nate and the rest of the Angels and only had to deal with Xapham when rotas were issued and certain humans got too vulnerable to a Demon’s persuasion. After their initial meeting, Xapham continued to obey Nate but remained emotionally closed off. Nate considered it better than what he could hope for.

  
Nate’s biggest concern, after seeing the Angelic network spread over the whole of London, was how vast and intricate Aeron’s own Demonic network was. 

  
“Has it always been like that?” He asked Charmeine one afternoon when she came to collect yet more paperwork. 

  
She shrugged. “Ever since that Archdemon has presided over the territory. He’s a wily one, I think that’s why Sandriel did what he did,” she said delicately.

  
And he had no idea he was facing down a Fallen One rather than an Archdemon, Nate thought morosely. 

  
“What we need is more Angels,” he said after a moment of quiet.

  
“The powers that be won’t deploy anymore Angels to London,” Charmeine said apologetically. “They’re having some problems somewhere in Europe. A Demon has set himself up as the next messiah.”

  
Nate rolled his eyes. “Oh, the egos of Demons. I guess we’ll have to make do, as the British military would say.” 

  
Charmeine gave him a confused look. “Okay,” she said anyway.

  
It wasn’t just his new role that he had to get used to but his association with a certain Fallen Angel. Their dinners had started off as an occasional spur of the moment here and there's. But they soon increased in frequency to the point where they had dinner once a week. And it didn’t stop at food, they frequented the green parks around London, viewed some of the museums like human tourists and once, on one memorable occasion, drank beer in a pub as they watched a rugby game.

  
It became less and less about what they were and more about who they were as individuals. Angelic business was hardly a topic of conversation between them. Aeron seemed more interested in knowing Nate’s likes and dislikes, and when Nate got over his suspicions (Nate could not come up with a reason of how Nate’s favourite movies could be used to the other side’s benefit. The lord of the rings were his favourite, hands down.), the conversation flowed between them and no topic seemed to be off limit.

  
Well, perhaps one.

  
And it just kind of tumbled out over a shared desert of a decadent chocolate cake at their favourite haunt, a little bistro in the more questionable part of London. 

  
“What’s your Angelic name?”

  
They both freeze with their forks in the cake, Nate wishing he had a filter between mouth and brain. Aeron recovered faster, tearing a chunk from the cake and popping it into his mouth. He chewed carefully but remained silent.

  
Nate dropped his eyes back to the plate. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

  
“Well, I do know your real name so it seems fair you should know mine.” He smiled. “Or should I leave you guessing as you did me?”

  
Nate made a face at him. “I didn’t exist when you and the others fell. I came into being when the world needed fire to warm it.” He twirled his fork in his hand but he didn’t eat anymore. “And your names were not allowed to be spoken by anyone anymore.”

  
Aeron leaned back in his chair, watching Nate with a calm face, like it didn’t hurt to hear that. “I would expect nothing less. Our names would have gone the same way as our grace, blinking out of existence.”

  
Nate didn’t want to interrupt in case he said the wrong thing and Aeron would say no more. He hadn’t known how badly he had wanted to know the answer until he had voiced the question.

  
“My name,” Aeron said, “Was Cassiel.”

  
“Cassiel,” Nate repeated and Aeron’s eyes darkened. “And what were you in charge of in Heaven?”

  
“The stars,” Aeron replied, his voice wistful and full of meaning. “I breathed life into the stars and placed them around the universe.”

  
Nate’s gut clenched with the knowledge. “You?” He said in wonder. “You were the star maker?”

  
Aeron shrugged. “Not that it matters now.”

  
“Of course it does!” Nate said earnestly, a little too earnest perhaps. He blushed at Aeron’s wide eyed look. “I mean, they are so beautiful. And hopeful. They will remain when we are all gone…”

  
“You think they are beautiful?” Aeron said in an uncertain tone.

  
Nate raised his eyebrows at him with a teasing grin. “You have to ask? Yes, I do.”

  
Aeron nodded and ate more of the cake before speaking again. “You can call me, Cassiel, if you’d like. In private, of course. We wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

  
That- sounded intimate. Nate wasn’t sure they should but the idea that the star maker’s name would pass out of knowledge was unthinkable so he nodded. 

  
“Cassiel,” he said again, like a promise, like he was testing it out.

  
Cassiel’s answering smile had a heated edge to it.


	11. Chapter 11

  
Of course, it was only a matter of time before Nate’s carefully constructed world came to a shuddering halt in the form of another Archangel.

  
Nate’s precinct got a call from an anonymous source with a sighting of Lucas Higgins, an ex-army sergeant who had a penchant for robbing jewellery stores with an illegal semi-automatic and hitting the sales assistant in the face with it. Repeatedly. He had eluded police for close to six months now and, after flouting his mug shot on the news and several watch dogs across the country, they had been getting dozens of ‘tip-offs’ from the public that had come to absolutely nothing. 

  
Until now. 

  
This anonymous caller described Lucas Higgins to a T and the sighting was at a pub in Hounslow called The King and Crown, right in the middle of the man’s home burrough. It was the most promising lead they had had so far and Nate and Harri personally responded to it with a unit of armed police in kevlar gear. 

  
Nate and Harri went in first, dressed in civilian clothing to blend in with the rest of the punters. If they had spotted him, they would have cleared out the pub and sent in the armed unit to forcefully remand the suspect. 

  
But it didn’t come to that. One look around the half empty pub and Nate felt the telltale signs of another Archangel in the building. His stomach dropped at that familiar signature and he wanted so badly to grab Harri and leg it out of their without a second look back. 

  
Nate turned his head to the left and spotted the Archangel sitting in a corner booth with a long leg up on the other seat and slouched back like he had all the time in the world. Their eyes connected and the Archangel’s full lips grew into a smug smile as he airily waved at him.

  
Uriel. 

  
“Damn it,” Harri heaved a frustrated sigh. “Looks like we missed him.”

  
Uriel’s eyes left Nate’s to give a slow once over of Harri and Nate bristled at the look in his eyes. Like he was considering a prized cow at the cattle market. He felt Harri was in real danger if he didn’t get her out of the building right now.

  
“So it would seem,” he said, voice slightly husky from the sudden adrenaline he felt. “But there’s no point two of us hanging about now. Why don’t you go back outside and tell the armed unit to stand down while I talk to the pub owner and see if he can ID Higgins for us?”

  
“Alright, but if I find out you had a pint of beer without me, I’m going to be so mad,” she said amiably before she headed out the door.

  
Nate watched her go with uneasy eyes before he walked over to Uriel’s booth with a heavy heart. He kept his voice even and calm when he greeted him. “Uriel.”

  
Uriel’s smile only got bigger. “Nathaniel. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I saw you was Towton, 1461.”

  
Nate’s face visibly tightened. March 29th 1461, the Battle of Towton was the bloodiest battle ever fought in England. It had been six years where the war of the roses had been raging and at Towton, the forces of York and Lancaster clashed and, in a single day, thousands of men lost their lives in the slaughter. 

  
It was a day of brutal hand-to-hand fighting, men hacking at each other with swords and billhooks. Both sides fought hard and the Commanders kept feeding men into the war machine. Soon, they were fighting over piles of the dead and screaming wounded. The river that ran adjacent to the hill ran red with blood and Nate had his first taste of what humanity could do to each other.

  
Uriel had been in the thick of it, being the Angel of Death, and Nate had watched despondent as he went about his work among the humans. He had caught Nate watching him and smiled a smile of pure unbridled joy.

  
The other Angel made Nate feel uncomfortable breathing the same air as him. To have him here in London only made that feeling grow exponentially. 

  
“I take that it was you who put in the anonymous call about Lucas Higgins,” Nate said with an air of forbearance.

  
Uriel winked. “I had to get your attention somehow, Nate,” he said jovially, like the name was a joke to him. 

  
Nate kept watching him, when a thought resurfaced. “Micheal told me he was considering you for the permanent replacement for the London territory.”

  
Uriel hummed, clearly pleased with the prospect. “I know, it surprised me too. But I presume Micheal was rather disconcerted with Sandirel’s destruction. Now that is something that doesn’t happen every century. He must consider my credentials up to the task of dealing with such a unique ArchDemon.”

  
“He is certainly unique,” Nate said sardonically. “Who would take over your post on Earth?”

  
“That would be Samuel. He’s been chomping at the bit to get involved with the death dealing of humans again. His last mission was during the bubonic plague.” That gleam was back again. “Oh, how he has missed it.”

  
Nate hadn’t met Samuel so he couldn’t comment on it, but if he was anything like Uriel, then it didn’t surprise him. “Am I to understand you are here to relieve me of the duty of London then? Or soon?”

  
“Not in this instance, no. Micheal hasn’t formally offered me the job and i have the African problem to deal with. Ebola, you know. Horrible business.”

“Then what are we doing here?” 

  
Uriel laughed, the sound rich with an edge that could cut. “You and I have a couple things to talk about, don’t you think?”

  
He held his hand out to the chair opposite him in invitation and Nate, knowing he had no choice but to obey a higher ranking Angel, sat down. 

  
“You’ll have to enlighten me,” Nate said. “What things do we need to talk about?”

  
Uriel took a sip of his pint, savoring the taste before answering. “Why, the interesting company you seem to keep these days, of course.”

  
Nate felt like he took a sucker punch to the gut and the air left his lungs in a whoosh of breath. His body blew hot then freezing cold as Nate’s mind raced over everything he had done over the last six months, all the ways he had broken Angelic law and consorted with an ArchDemon (even worse, a Fallen Angel. Not that his side knew that, of course). What was the punishment for something like that? Has another Angel been found guilty of something like this before?

  
_Destruction_ , Nate’s mind supplied helpfully. _You’re going to be destroyed for this_. 

  
And they sent Uriel as the Judge, Jury and Executioner. The higher ups must be absolutely incandescent with anger at his indiscretions. 

  
Nate licked his suddenly dry lips. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific than that, i’m afraid. I am a police detective, i’m often in the company of very interesting people-”

  
“Perhaps the use of the word ‘people’ was incorrect of me,” Uriel mused. “That ArchDemon isn’t what I call a person. More like filth. Would that be more apt of a description for you?”

  
No room for misunderstanding, then. Uriel really was here to execute divine punishment on Nate’s head for his serious infractions. Nate wanted to deny it, wholeheartedly, that they were wrong, that he wasn’t consorting with the other side, but he couldn’t. It would be a bold faced lie and he couldn’t carry off the manipulation and subterfuge he would need to get away with it.

  
Aeron would have been able to do it.

  
Not exactly a helpful thought to have when Nate was trying to think of a way to not end up destroyed at the end of all of this. 

  
_Destroyed._

  
The words sent terror dancing up and down his spine, the very atoms that made up his vessel buzzing, trying to pull themselves apart from each other until he was nothing but a fine mist. The biggest worry in his head, sounding more and more like a scream with every second that passed was _Who was going to tell Harri what happened to him so she didn’t worry herself sick?_

  
_I’m going to miss the conversations with Aeron._

  
Uriel leaned over the table with his elbows on the surface, propping him up. His face was now completely devoid of the amusement of the last few minutes. “Look, I know you and that ArchDemon have been meeting on a regular basis for awhile now. I’ve watched you two since I have been in the city.”

  
Nate ground his teeth in irritation. “How long has that been? And shouldn’t you announce yourself to me as i’m the Archangel of london now?”

  
Uriel smirked. “I don’t need to announce my presence to anyone, Nathaniel. I’m the Angel of Death, remember? I go where death leads me."

  
Nate didn’t know if that was strictly true or not but he figured arguing the point would just make things worse for him in the long run. 

  
Uriel continued. “Besides, I wanted to get a good look at the who I would be dealing with if I was to take the position on.” Hel turned back to his initial point. “I know what you’re doing. Micheal may think you are some mild mannered veteran who wants out of the bigger picture, but I see through it.”

  
Nate was beginning to lose the thread of this conversation but he didn’t feel comfortable to ask, so he just hummed. “You do, do you?”

  
Uriel smiled. “Why else would you meet with filth like that? You want to know how he was able to destroy Sandriel. You want to get close so you can take revenge for our brother and repay him in kind.”

  
Nate opened his mouth but he didn’t have anything to reply to that and he shut his mouth with a click of his jaw. Revenge for Sandriel’s destruction? He couldn’t be serious.

  
Uriel took this to mean he was in the right. His eyes took on a manic gleam that made the short hair on Nate’s arms and the back of his neck stand on end just seeing it. “I thought so,” his voice deepened to a purr with his satisfaction. “You’re not the only one wondering how an ArchDemon has the power to destroy an Archangel. Either way, that filth has no right to still be breathing.”

  
Nate’s fear had started to abate after he realized that Uriel wasn’t here to punish him, but now it surged full force at the direction the conversation was starting to take. 

  
“Micheal has ordered a cessation of hostilities after what Sandriel had tried to do.” Nate began in halting words but Uriel waved them off like it was nothing important. 

  
“Sandirel had the right idea, if a little stupid in the execution of it. He clearly realised there was something wrong with the Archdemon-”

  
“From the normal of Demons, you mean,” Nate said faintly.

  
Uriel laughed appreciatively. “Exactly. But Sandriel should have known that a full frontal assault against him with the risk of Human loss wasn’t going to be sanctioned by Micheal. It was stupid to try it and it caused his own undoing.” He bobbed his head. “Your way will be better.”

  
“My way,” Nate repeated like a broken record. 

  
“Ingenious, really. Most Angels wouldn’t think to get close to him to destroy him. And unorthodox plan, but then the ArchDemon is unorthodox himself. Is Micheal aware of what you are doing?” Uriel asked. 

  
Nate shook his head and cleared his throat uneasily. “No, he - He wants the ArchDemon alive, to preserve the balance.”

  
Uriel clicked his tongue. “Of course he does. Micheal seems to be losing his touch since the Great War. The Demons will take care of their sides of things, regardless of what happens to the ArchDemon. Just as you have taken Sandriel’s place. A new Demon will do the same. Job done, in my opinion.”

  
Nate wanted out of the conversation. Right now. Talking about Aeron’s death was like an act of betrayal and Nate felt like he was being pulled in a dozen different directions.

  
_Get out now, get far away from the Angel of Death as you possibly can._

  
Nate pointed over his shoulder at the pub’s exit. “I should be getting back. My unit are waiting for me.”

  
The amusement was back again. “Sure, go play with your dear humans. Just know that if you need any support, I will offer it to you gladly.”

  
Nate didn’t reply to that. He left the pub and stood just outside the door with the conversation ringing in his ears. Harri was across the road already sitting in the car, the armed unit already gone. She spotted him and waved a styrofoam cup of tea in his direction and he nodded.

  
Nate took one step and his phone started to buzz with an incoming call. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked who was calling: Aeron.

  
_I know what you are up to. Why else would be seeing that filth?_

  
Nate’s heart was in his throat at seeing tha name. For the first time since they became - whatever they were now, Nate declined to take the call and put it back in his pocket. 

  
Nate walked to the car and got in behind the wheel.

  
“Everything good?” Harri asked as she handed over the cup.

  
_No, everything was not good. I thought I was going to be destroyed today, but it turns out the Angel of Death had been spying on the ArchDemon and I as we met up socially and now thinks I'm after information for our side before I destroy him out of revenge. He has no idea that we are actually friends and I already know why he was able to do what he did, because he’s a Fallen one._

  
“Sure,” Nate said instead. “Thank you for the tea. You sure know how to spoil me.”

  
“It would have been mixed with rum, but then you have to drive back to the precinct and I have it on very good authority that driving whilst under the influence is a very bad idea.”

  
Harri’s presence was like a flame to the ice in his veins. “Did the police force teach you that?”

  
“My mother, actually.”

  
“Wise woman,” he said before starting the car and pulling out into the traffic. His phone vibrated again, a voice mail perhaps, and it burned a hole against his leg with his awareness of it.

  
Nate decided that when they get back to the precinct, he’ll delete it without listening to it.

  
Uriel had proven himself a poingent reminded of their distinct boundaries and how close he had come to losing everything again.

* * *

  
With the sudden appearance of Uriel and his questions, Nate felt like he had awoken from a daydream that he had been having for the last couple of weeks. It was like a slap to the face, demanding what he had been thinking of to be in the company of a Fallen Angel, to enjoy that company, to, perhaps, even consider the man a friend.

  
He had been lulled into a false sense of security by how personable Cassiel, Aeron, was, how charming he could be when he talked, putting Nate at ease, making him laugh, making him feel like Nate the police detective and not Nathaniel the broken Archangel of fire. 

  
Aeron didn’t handle him with kid gloves. He didn’t look at him with pity or compassion, someone that you wanted to help but thanked God that they weren’t in Nate’s poisition. He didn’t treat him like he belonged on a pedastool for his reputation like Charmeine did or like an enemy like Xapham did. 

  
Aeron had treated him like an equal, like their previous lives and what they were didn’t mean a thing anymore. They were simply Aeron and Nate, a police detective and CEO in London who had similair interests and compatable personalities, drawn to each other as humans often were with others out of a pool of thousands.

  
Nate and Aeron.

  
The Holy and the Unholy.

  
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought that something like that was acheavable? That it would not be found out and punished to the harshest extent? He had forgotten the fundamental trait of the corrupted and was seduced by it.

  
That they held up a mirror to you and showed you what you wanted to see, what you most desired in all the world, and Nate had fallen for it hook. Line. And sinker. 

  
Nate had almost forgotten everything that he had stood for, cast away his purpose to exist and the very reason why he was on Earth in the first place. He had done all of that over the feelings, no the persuasion, of a fallen one. 

  
Aeron must be laughing to the point of tears over how easy it was to manipulate Nate like he was doing right now. Slapping himself on the back for a job well done, reprting back to te boss on how London was theirs for the taking. 

  
And what a master manipulator he was! Aeron was able to see Sandriel’s pride and his thirst for advanecement and had use to against him. He egged Sandriel on to the point of his own destruction and now he has set his sights on Nate.

  
Two for the price of one!

  
That poweful perception saw in Nate his loneliness and the compulsion to reach out and find the kernal of good in people. Aeron saw his desperation to stop the fighting, to stop the bloodshed, to want peace for once since he was created.

  
And Aeron had taken that and ran with it, showed him what it could be like to feel normal, to feel human without the burden of divine weight. Nate, the naive idiot, had lapped it up. Nate had thrown caution to the wind, ignored all the warnings his conciousness had snet his way and ran headlong into the enemy’s clutches. 

  
Micheal had been right to worry about Aeron. Nate hadn’t felt so much as a whiff of Aeron’s power as it wrapped around him and took hold. But then, what should he expect from a Fallen Angel as old as Aeron? Or Nate, as weak as he was, for a small slice of kindness?

  
Well, not anymore. Regardless of Uriel’s true intentions of coming to see him as he did, Nate had heeded the warning that it was. He had been so close to his own destruction at the end of Uriel’s sword, but was saved by Uriel putting his trust in Nate’s incorruptibility. 

  
Uriel would have been right to destroy him, too. 

  
That thought made Nate want to be sick. It didn't bear thinking about. All he could do now was look ahead and conduct himself in the manner befitting of the Archangel of London. 

  
No more contact with Aeron. No more dinner dates, no more walks in the park, no more coffees for no apparent reason other than to check in with each other. Definitely no more silly texts and random calls at odd hours of the day. 

  
No more _'Hi, how are you?_ 's or _'Have you seen this video of a dog getting weirded out by its own fart? Wild!'_

  
No more Aeron period. 

  
Nate was perfectly fine with that. He had to be. 

  
He would be. 

* * *

  
“Are you alright, Sir?” Harri asked and Nate got the feeling she had asked that before while Nate had been too distracted to answer. 

  
They were at a greasy spoon cafe on a Tuesday morning, two days since Nate had seen Uriel in the pub, and they were ordering mugs of tea and breakfast wraps to go before they started their shift. 

  
Nate hadn’t meant to be distracted, he had made a promise to himself to not check his phone for the umpteenth time that morning alone. There was six missed calls and an answer phone message from Aeron.

  
Nate had let the calls ring on and on, either in his pocket so it was practically burning a hole through the material of his trousers, or on the bedside table, the screen lighting up his darkened bedroom as he lay in bed wide awake and unblinking. 

  
Everytime the phone rang and Aeron’s name flashed up as the caller, Nate’s hands itched to pick it up and hear that deep smooth voice speak back, to hear the amusement and the gentle teasing. 

  
But he didn’t. He held firm, clinging to his earlier anger and comforting himself with the knowledge that he was doing the right thing. No matter how much it felt like a wrench, like he was guilty of ghosting someone.

  
He hadn’t even played back the answer phone message, not out of sheer force of will, but because of a concern that if he played it back and heard Aeron speak, his self control would crumble like a sandcastle against the oncoming waves of the sea. 

  
But the not knowing of what Aeron had to say was making him distracted, restless, losing the threads of conversation or taking away his focus from the work he had to do. It was almost a physical effort to pull his mind away from such thoughts and concentrate on a frowning Harri.

  
“Of course I am,” Nate said, trying for light but missing the mark by a mile. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

  
Harri gave him a non plussed look that spoke volumes. “You’re about to put the salt in your tea instead of the sugar.”

  
“Oh,” Nate mumbled as he dropped the salt shaker and switched to the sugar. Once their food was cooked and wrapped and they paid for it, they left the little cafe and headed to their parked car.

  
“So?” she prompted as they were back in the warmth of the car and immediately tucked into the piping hot wrap. “What’s on your mind?”

  
Nate used the time of biting into his own wrap and chewing to think of what to say next. “I’m not sure what you want me to reply with. I’m just a little tired.” There was no lie there, he hadn’t been sleeping well.

  
Harri didn’t look his way, too busy with eating her food. “Is that why you keep looking at your phone like you both dredd and yearn for it to ring?”

  
Nate grimaced. “I don’t.”

  
“You do.”

  
He sighed. “Am I that transparent?”

  
Harri paused in her chewing to think it over. “You know what, yes, yes you are. For a police detective, you’re pretty transparent. Maybe you should look into that.”

  
“Noted,” Nate replied, before crumbling under the pressure. “I’m having friendship troubles.”

  
“Not relationship troubles?” Harri asked, wagging her eyebrows while leering at him like a fourteen year old.

  
“No, definitely friendship troubles,” Nate said firmly, mind racing ahead on how to word this to a human who couldn’t know anything about his Angelic side. “I have a friend. We’ve only met recently but we get on well together. Very well, in fact.”

  
Harri nods. “Sounds great so far, so why the long face?”

  
“The problem is that this friend has done some bad things in the past which has set us against each other in the present,” Nate said slowly, not really knowing if this was making any sense to Harri at all. “That, in a way, we should be enemies. And our...families… Would kill us if they knew we were even entertaining the idea of a friendship.” Literally.

  
Harri squinted at him. “Are you paraphrasing Romeo and Juliette at me right now?”

  
Nate squinted back. “Wait, what? No, that doesn’t even make sense. Why would I paraphrase Shakespeare at you?”

  
“It kind of does make sense, when you think of the plot points.”

  
“It really doesn’t,” Nate said empathically. “Besides, who would that make me? Romeo or Julliette?”

  
Harri grinned. “Why, Julliette of course. You need someone to serenade you on a balcony, though I wouldn’t advocate the scuicide part.”

  
“Thanks, I think,” Nate laughed. “But it’s not like any of that. I’m trying to abide by my family and break contact with the friend. It’s for the best.”

  
They were silent for a while as they finished up their breakfast. Harri was the one who broke the silence. “This friend of yours, has he changed since he did the bad things? Has he atoned for them?”

  
If suffering the torments of Hell is atoning then yes. Aeron had been atoning ever since he Fell. But had he changed since his Fall?

  
Nate couldn't really say. He was unlike any other Fallen or Demon Nate had come into contact with. There was good in him, Nate was sure of it, but did that mean anything in the grand scheme of the cosmos?

  
“Partly, yes, but I don’t know if that really matters,” Nate answered. “Not to my family.”

  
“You don’t really talk about them.” Harri ventured. “Your family, I mean.” 

  
Nate shrugged. “Family can be difficult at the best of times.”

  
“Don’t I know it,” Harri said with feeling. “You know what I would do in your situation?”

  
Nate turned to her. “What would you do?”

  
“It sounds like you really like this guy, so talk to him honestly. Find out for yourself if he’s changed for the better and you can live with the rest of the stuff. I would hate to be judged today on what I did ten years ago, perspectives change as you grow older. It could be youthful transgressions. Then you have a decision to make between your friend and your family, if your family won’t budge on the matter. And this type of decision has a simple formula to get to the right answer.”

  
Nate smiled, expecting a humorous response. “And what’s that?”

  
Harri looked at him without smiling. “I would weigh every option open to me and pick the one that I can live with myself afterwards. Even if they are all shitty situations and i’m going to hurt someone no matter what I do. You have to live with your choices at the end of the day so choose what you can carry.”

  
Nate swallowed thickly. If only he could. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  
“See that you do,” Harri said as she started up the car. “You’ve been a lot happier these past couple of weeks. It would be a shame for you to lose it.”

  
Nate didn’t have an answer to that.

* * *

  
_You have one new message, received yesterday at 6:56 PM…_

  
_“Nate, it’s Aeron…. Call me paranoid, but i’m getting the feeling you’ve been fielding my calls as of late… You’re probably not, just extremely involved in a case dealing with wrongdoers and the like… Or perhaps your duties as the new Archangel of London is keeping you away from your phone… Either way, if you could check in with me, let me know how you’re doing, I would appreciate it… Phone call or text, whichever you prefer….something…”_

  
_End of message. Press one to repeat message, press two to -_

  
_Message deleted. End of messages._

* * *

It had not been a good day.

  
Nate had answered a domestic abuse call made by a worried neighbour for a woman who was being used as a punching bag for her alcoholic husband. Despite being admitted into hospital with a fractured arm, two rapidly swelling black eyes and a broken nose, she wouldn’t press charges against him, claiming she had fallen down the stairs head first. The police have the right to arrest the man even without the wife pushing for it but they lacked sufficient evidence to do so. The victim wouldn’t break her silence and the neighbour wasn’t a witness to the incident, only alerted to it by the screaming. 

  
Nate had to leave her there in the care of the nurses and dread the future calls of more violence, or worse, her death. He may be an Archangel but Nate couldn’t overstep his boundaries and go against a human’s will, no matter how much he wanted to in their best interest.

  
He finally clocked out at seven in the evening, emotionally exhausted and the driving need to get home as soon as possible and dive headlong under the covers of his bed, waiting for this day to be over already. 

  
He got through the front door of his apartment building and shuffled up the stairs towards his apartment when he stopped dead in his tracks. On the landing, just in front of his door was Aeron. He looked like he had come straight from work, still wearing a dark suit without the suit jacket and tie, the first two buttons of his shirt undone. He was leaning against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers and watching Nate’s progress up the stairs with hooded eyes that masked what he was thinking. 

  
“Aeron,” Nate said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

  
Aeron pushed away from the wall and straightened to his full height. The height discrepancy from the landing to where Nate stood on the steps below made him feel incredibly small and inconsequential. He had to crane his neck up to meet Aeron’s eyes.

  
“I think you and I have something to talk about, don’t you?” Aeron asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

  
Nate grimaced at that. 


	12. Chapter 12

  
_Aeron pushed away from the wall and straightened to his full height. The height discrepancy from the landing to where Nate stood on the steps below made him feel incredibly small and inconsequential. He had to crane his neck up to meet Aeron’s eyes._

_“I think you and I have something to talk about, don’t you?” Aeron asked, raising an eyebrow at him._

Nate grimaced at that. “How did you even get in my building?”

At this, Aeron’s lips turned up at the corners slightly. “A very obliging old lady, Mrs Hemmingway from the apartment above you, took pity on me and buzzed me in. She asked me to pass on a message to you that she made those lemon and poppy seed biscuits you love so much. She’ll keep some back for when you can pop on up and see her for a cup of tea.”

That woman was a godsend to humanity and Nate really did love those biscuits. If she had her way, Nate would be the size of a car. 

Nate contemplated Aeron. “What, you mean you couldn’t do your demonic thing and blast your way in?”

“Why would I do that when I could simply charm the pants off of your neighbour and get in with no casualties?” Aeron asked oh-so innocently.

“That’s generous of you,” Nate said suspiciously. “Even more generous of you not to enter my home and sit in the dark like a bond villain.”

Aeron took a step back and, without looking, placed his hand against Nate’s front door. The reaction was instantaneous, there was a bright flash of light and Aeron’s hand began to blacken and smoke. 

Nate made a sharp sound in his throat, an aborted step forward before he reigned himself in. 

Aeron pulled his hand away from the door and considered his burnt palm with a curious expression. “I’m beginning to feel very unwanted, Nate. A Demon sigil? Really?”

In all honesty, Nate had forgotten he had even created them to begin with. He should have renewed the sigils on his home the moment Michael had made him an Archangel again, but like a lot of things in recent memory, Nate had let it slip. 

“I created them when I first met you,” Nate said by way of explanation. “You didn’t exactly fill me with much confidence on not attaching me, after you made Valerie take a jump out of the fourteenth story window.”

Aeron turned back to Nate, face intent. “And now?”

Nate wavered, clinging desperately to the anger he had felt when he thought of Aeron’s manipulation. The feeling of betrayal did wonders at clearing your head, but it was hard to recall that feeling when the very man it was directed at was in front of him and looking unsure of himself. “I think this isn’t the type of conversation we should be having in the hallway where any human could overhear.”

Aeron’s face shuttered at Nate’s non-reply. “In that case, won’t you invite me in so that we could have this conversation without the prying ears of humans to worry about?”

Of course it was inevitable that they were to have this conversation. Aeron wasn’t the type to let Nate slink off into the night and refuse all future communication, even if Nate would have preferred to have done so. 

Against his better judgement, Nate nodded his head and ascended the rest of the stairs as he fished his door keys out of his trouser pocket He placed his hand on the same spot that Aeron had done and willed the Demonic sigil away. The outlines of the mark glowed a soft white before disappearing without a trace. As he did so, he was painfully aware of Aeron standing at his back, silent.

Unlocking the door, Nate stepped in and held it open for Aeron to pass the threshold. Aeron’s eyes flicked around the little hallway, before he tentatively stepped in. Nate couldn’t help but wonder if he was expecting an attack or if he’d never been inside of an apartment that didn’t cost six figures, but Aeron was the one who wanted to get inside an Angel’s living space, so he would have to get used to it.

He shut the door and led the way into his living room where he dropped his keys onto the low coffee table with a noisy clink and he shucked off his coat to drape it across the back of the armchair. He turned around and observed Aeron standing still and drinking in his surroundings like he was committing it all to memory. 

His eyes went to the framed photographs of Nate, Harri and the rest of the police department at a social picnic, grinning in the rare London summer sunshine. There were the pretty landscape canvas paintings Nate had found at a local market that had caught his eye for their colours, the assortment of knick knacks that Nate had collected during his time on earth that meant something sentimental to him or just looked nice on his shelves. 

Nate was growing oddly self conscious as time stretched on as Aeron continued to stare around his home in silence. What was it that was so interesting about it all? What information was he gaining from such a snapshot into Nate’s life? Was there anything incriminating that Nate couldn’t see himself?

“You know,” Aeron started off conversationally. “I often wondered what your place would be like. Now that I'm here, this is exactly what I would have said it would have.”

“What, small, cheap and eclectic?” Nate asked, an edge of defensive anger creeping into his voice. 

“Like a home,” Aeron replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “Like somewhere you would long to be after a long day.”

  
Well, that was not at all what Nate had expected Aeron to say. He even sounded like he meant it too.

  
Nate didn’t know why, but it irritated him to hear Aeron say it. Perhaps it was because that was what he saw too, or perhaps it was the type of thing that would make Nate glow with gratitude to hear it. 

  
And Aeron must have known that. Why else would he say it? Well, good for him. Nate needed the reminder of what he was dealing with and he needed the anger to get him through this next part.

  
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Nate murmured. 

  
It grabbed Aeron’s attention and he turned back to Nate. “Why not?”

  
“Because we both know you don’t really mean it.”

  
The words felt heavy between them, the silence loaded and watchful in their wake. Nate couldn’t make out the expression on the Fallen’s face, but it was like a rain cloud over the sun, dark and ominous.

  
"I don't really mean it?" Aeron asked, like he had never heard the term before and couldn't comprehend its meaning. His tone grew dark and dangerous and the temperature in the room noticeably dropped. Nate's skin prickled in awareness. "Would you care to enlighten me on how you have reached that conclusion?" 

  
Nate raised his eyebrows in an expressively sardonic face, his look scathing. "The Demon part kind of gave it away. Oh, _my apologies_ , I mean the fact that you're a Fallen Angel and have been a sworn enemy since time immemorial."

  
Aeron prowled closer to him and Nate got the distinct impression that he was being stalked, sized up and regarded as tasty prey. It raised the hair on the back of his neck in alarm. "My nature has never been in question before now. You act like this is news to you."

  
Nate glared at him. "News? No, I've always known what you are. The fact that I've allowed you to manipulate me like a brainless puppet after all this time? It won't happen again." 

  
Aeron’s face went through a series of complicated expressions before it landed on incredulousness. “Manipulation? You think I manipulated you into what exactly? My dastardly plan of going to dinner with me, of our chat about whether it was better to put the cream on the scone before the jam or vice versa? Or perhaps you were referring to that awfully wicked time we stayed up past our bedtime to catch the late night showing of wonder woman?”

  
Nate gritted his teeth in frustration. “Really, Aeron? You think this whole thing is funny that you need to mock?”

  
“Do I find this whole thing funny? No. Do I find your accusations utterly ridiculous? Of course I do. I didn’t take you for the ridiculous type, to be honest.”

  
Those words were thrown at Nate like physical projectiles and Nate flinched away from them. “Are you really going to stand there, in my home, and deny it? That, what, you happened to meet me and think ‘ _now there’s an Angel I would like to get to know without any other intention’_.”

  
“Is that so hard to believe?” Aeron demanded.

  
“Yes!” Nate practically shouted.

  
“That says more about your self confidence than it says about my intentions, Angel,” Aeron sneered.

  
Nate wasn’t going to get into an argument about self worth, not in this moment. “If your side found out what you were doing, they would damn you for it.”

  
Aeron held his arms out to the side in dramatic flare. “I’m already damned, remember? It wouldn’t make much of a difference to me either way.”

  
“You know what i mean!” Nate snarled and it was the first true angry outburst he had had at Aeron since their first couple of fraught meetings. 

  
Aeron’s gaze sharpened on Nate’s face to the point that Nate had to stifle the urge to turn away. “Hell, you Angels can be so arrogant in your righteousness. Which is kind of funny when you think about it. My brothers and I fell for the sin of pride, and yet you look down on us from your lofty perch and thank Heaven for your blessings. If that’s not arrogance, I don’t know what is.”

  
Nate grew cold with anger. “Do not preach at me about sins, I’m not the one who is lying through his teeth with manipulation-”

  
Aeron’s eyes narrowed. “There’s that word again. Manipulation. You all throw that word around like it’s interchangeable with power and Demons.”

  
Nate felt particularly malicious and the moment it was out of his mouth, he knew he had overstepped. “You mean there's a difference?”

  
Aeron smiled but it wasn’t a particularly nice smile, bordering on a fanged leer. “Let me show you what manipulation _really_ is.”

  
That really didn’t sound good.

  
Before Nate could say anything or take a step back in defence, his body locked into place on its own volition. There was no unseen force behind it, he felt no pain like he had expected from a Fallen Angel’s onslaught against his person. There was only a calm despondency that blanketed him. He could feel everything, he could hear everything, he could smell and see everything. But he was essentially locked into his own body, unable to react, his nothing more than dust in the wind.

  
He tried to move his hands at his sides, tried to tilt his head or lift his leg, but nothing happened. Not even a twitch of movement, a tensing of the muscles. He was utterly powerless.

  
Aeron closed in on him, his shoes soundless on the carpet, until they stood toe to toe with each other, faces close together. As Aeron was taller than him by half a head, Aeron used his power to tilt Nate’s face up so they could meet each other’s gaze. Anger burned in their depths, making them more alive than Nate had seen before.

  
“I know what you’re thinking. This is how I must have had the Angel Valerie jump out of the office window amidst eye witnesses without so much as a fight. And you’re right, this is exactly how I did it.” He contemplated Nate, savouring every moment that Nate couldn’t argue back. “I could make you do anything that I wanted and there is nothing you could do about it.”

  
He leaned closer until their lips nearly touched, Aeron’s breath fanning across Nate’s lips and they began to tingle. “Anything. I’m a lot older than you are, I’ve had the time to practise. Your attempts would be like a fly trying to break through a glass window.”

  
Nate couldn’t speak so he tried to show all of his frustration through his eyes. Despite Aeron's words, Nate wasn’t afraid of him. He clearly had the power to back up what he was saying but the threat fell flat with him.

  
Just as flat as his own glare, as Aeron’s smile only grew wider. “Now, this trick works on humans very well. I can tell a human to rob an old lady on the street, to be violent to a family member or their spouse, to even commit the horror of murder. And they would do it like it was their own brain telling them to do it, that they were in full control of themselves as they did what I told them to do, that it was perfectly reasonable to do so.”

  
Abominable, Nate thought screamed at him.

  
“Now Angels are different,” Aeron continued. “While you can’t do anything about it, you know what is happening to you, that it isn’t you that is in control of yourself in this moment. Perhaps it’s because I was once like you, that my manipulation against you doesn’t work the same way. If I ever use it on you, you will always know when I'm forcing you to do what I want.”

  
He back off a step, never breaking eye contact. “So tell me, do you still think I’ve been manipulating you the whole time we have known each other?”

  
With those words, Aeron let him go and Nate stumbled back, quick to right himself before he fell on his behind. “You’re an asshole,” he ground out.

  
“That has never been in question,” Aeron replied amiably. “Also, language Angel.”

  
“Bugger my language,” Nate said fiercely.

  
Aeron smiled, this time with amusement rather than to show his displeasure. “My question still stands, Nate. Have I or have I not used my manipulation at any time that we have been with each other?”

  
Nate contemplated him and all that he had said. He could be lying about Nate knowing when he did it, that this show wasn’t just that, a show. But Nate didn’t think so. In the time that they had known each other, Nate was gleaning some sense of when Aeron was serious and when he was teasing. When he was introspective and when he was melancholy. And Nate liked to think that he could tell when Aeron would lie to him and when he was telling the truth.

  
“Yes or no, Nate. Don’t leave me hanging like that.”

  
_Irritation_ , Nate thought. _That was definitely irritation._

  
“No,” Nate finally said. “You haven’t manipulated me.”

  
“Can you say that again, but this time with a bit more feeling,” Aeron said, playing for levity but missing by a mile.

  
Now that Nate was really paying attention to Aeron and his responses, he realised that he was perhaps a little hurt by Nate’s accusation and was covering it up with anger. That thought alone pulled Nate up short, making him feel uncomfortable.

  
“No,” he said again, his tone empathic. “You haven’t used your manipulation on me. I-”

  
I'm sorry. Two little words and yet they were so hard to say aloud. Was he in the wrong for assuming the worst of Aeron when it was in his nature to manipulate? That it would be so easy for him to do it, he had proven that fact just now. Should he say sorry if his fears had been entirely justifiable-

  
_“Hell, you Angels can be so arrogant in your righteousness. Which is kind of funny when you think about it. My brothers and I fell for the sin of pride, and yet you look down on us from your lofty perches and thank Heaven for your blessings. If that’s not arrogance, I don’t know what is.”_

  
God. Nate hated it when Aeron was right. And he was right, painfully right. Nate had considered himself above Aeron in terms of everything morality. He was an Angel, God’s anointed soldier, his grace was the fire of all that was Holy and he carried it with him wherever he went. But that didn't make him incorruptible. It didn’t make him immune to sins. The Great Fall had proven that. Sandriel had proven that. 

  
Nate was proving that right now. 

  
“I’m sorry,” Nate said and he truly meant it. “I- Something happened and I don’t know. It got to me, I began to question everything between us and I got stupid about it.”

  
Aeron shrugged his shoulders like it wasn’t important, but Nate wasn’t fooled. “Apology accepted. What happened that brought on the collapse of your self worth?”

  
Now it was Nate’s turn to shrug noncommittally. “That was hardly the collapse of my self worth, thank you for pointing that out. Anyway, now that you’re here in my home, I should do the hospitable thing and offer you some tea. Or coffee, if you would prefer.”

  
Nate didn’t wait around for Aeron’s answer, he turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen to root around in the cupboards for the yorkshire tea bags he had brought the previous day. He found them hiding behind a jar of peanut butter and retrieved it with shaking fingers.

  
As he reached for the kettle to fill it up with water, arms came around him to rest on the kitchen counter, effectively caging him in. Nate felt Aeron’s warmth like a long line at his back and he stilled his movements, head bowed slightly so that he felt the fallen’s breath stir the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

  
He shivered.

  
“Nate,” Aeron said, his tone was low and oh-so reasonable. “You’re not very good at being subtle.”

  
Nate rolled his shoulders. “Another Angelic defect?”

  
Aeron huffed out a breath. “Not in my experience, no. Your side is usually stone faced. I bet it’s murder trying to play poker with one of the Seraphim.”

  
Nate had to silently agree, facial expressions were not the Seraphim’s strong suit.

  
“You’re avoiding my question,” Aeron pointed out. “Now why would that be? I wonder.”

  
Nate shrugged it off. He pulled the kettle closer to himself so he was practically hugging it to his chest. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my problem, you don’t need to worry about it.”

  
Aeron’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the counter hard before he forced himself to relax. “I hate to break it to you Angel, but you kind of made it my problem when you fielded my calls this week. What could possibly have made you so upset?”

  
Nate winced. “Upset is a strong word to use, don’t you think?”

  
“Nate.”

  
Nate deflated at the implacable tone of voice. He heard, of all things, Harri’s voice in his head saying ‘ _A problem shared is a problem halved. How have you never come across the saying before? I would have thought a boomer like you would be all over those sickeningly upbeat quotes like that’._

  
Thanks for that, Harri. 

  
But it did help him come to a decision on telling Aeron why. He let out a sigh and said, “Uriel.”

  
There was a silence at that name, a silence that seemed loud in Nate’s ears though they didn’t speak, didn’t so much as move an inch. Nate was afraid to turn around to see the Fallen’s expression. 

  
“Uriel,” Aeron repeated and it held a world of meaning. 

  
This time Nate did turn around, careful not to elbow Aeron in the ribs. Aeron didn’t pull away now that they were facing each other. “Do you know Uriel?” 

  
Aeron shook his head. “We never met, not even when I was in Heaven. We had very different duties that never let our paths cross and then when I Fell, Uriel was already the Archangel of Death. His responsibility was reaping human souls, not fighting the Holy war. But his reputation for blood lust proceeds itself. He would make a very good Demon if his duty wasn’t necessary in the grand design.”

  
Of course Uriel was infamous in both Heaven and Hell. Why wasn’t he surprised?

  
Aeron suddenly straightened, looking at him intently. “Uriel came to see you?”

  
“He came to see me to offer his support in destroying you, but mainly he came to London to see you.” Nate replied. “To get a good look at the ArchDemon who managed to destroy Sandriel.”

  
Aeron’s eyes darkened to near black and it was mesmerizing to watch. “I hope he got a good long look at me.”

  
Nate watched him. “He did. He got a good long look at the both of us.”

  
“Ah,” Aeron said, realisation dawning on his face. “And he came to, what, confront you about it?”

  
This time Nate couldn’t help but smile. “No, actually. I thought he had when he said he’d seen us together. I thought he had come to destroy me.”

  
Aeron made a rough noise in his throat at that and Nate waved him away. “But he thought I was the one with a dastardly plan and I was trying to work you over in order to find out how you destroyed Sandriel. If there was a way I could seek revenge against you and do the same.”

  
Aeron raised his eyebrows comically. “That’s very dastardly of you. I approve.”

  
Nate laughed but the amusement soon faded from him. “I guess the very real threat of being destroyed freaked me out. I wanted to create distance and I got it into my head that you were doing it, this, for the benefit of Hell.”

  
Aeron was quiet for a moment and Nate wandered if he had said too much. But then he started to speak. “Have you ever wondered why a Fallen Angel would be here on Earth, pretending to be an ArchDemon?”

  
Nate blinked, his brain changing gears with the new conversation topic. “Well, it did cross my mind a time or two. But I thought you were ordered to do it?”

  
Aeron’s hands left the kitchen counter top and he pulled away. Nate instantly felt cold at the loss of his warmth. “In a way,” he said evasively. “It was more my idea, in the long run. I wanted a holiday.”

  
Now Aeron was teasing. Wasn’t he? “A holiday?”

  
Aeron smirked. “A long holiday on Earth. Humans make life look interesting, wouldn’t you agree? Makes it look like fun and I wanted a piece of it. Hell isn’t exactly a fun town, you know.”

  
Nate blanched. “I can only guess. What did you say to make it possible?”

  
The smirk grew wider. “I said that I would take the place of the ArchDemon of London. Back then Sandriel was doing pretty well for himself and Hell didn’t like it. I was volunteering my services and they gladly took me up on my offer. I’ve been enjoying myself with the humans ever since.” Aeron’s eyes flickered. “So what I'm trying to say is that there isn’t a dastardly plan of Hell thwarting Heaven with you involved. I wanted some freedom and I got it. You are a happy coincidence, shall we say.”

  
The words made Nate glow from the inside. A happy coincidence, he liked the sound of that. “We have more in common than I realised. You wanted to be away from Hell and I wanted nothing more to do with the Holy war. We’re like two refugees seeking asylum on Earth, displaced by higher powers.”

  
“The thought had occurred to me,” Aeron agreed. “And you shouldn’t worry about Uriel. I can hold my own against him.”

  
But Nate did worry. More than worry, even. Nate had the horrible suspicion they would eat those words come Uriel’s ascension to the Archangel of London.

  
He was sure of it. 


	13. Chapter 13

  
The crux of the matter was that Nate had become too preoccupied with the unearthly threat to himself and those around him. He thought he could be forgiven for that overstep when the likes of Uriel were turning up out of the blue with his thinly veiled threats, while at the same time Nate was encouraging a clandestine friendship with his immortal enemy, a fallen angel. 

  
That alone, Nate thought, was enough to be getting on with. 

  
What he didn’t account for was the nature of his job. Being a part of the police force on the busy London streets and all that it entailed. Nate may have been one of the highest forms of being in the universe, but his human vessel, made of flesh and bone, most definitely wasn’t.

  
This, as things of this nature always do, became abundantly clear to Nate when he and Harri were busy trying to apprehend a particularly wily drug dealer who had the habit of skipping his court hearings. It was during this apprehension that the man pulled out a knife from the waistband of his jeans and lashed out. Nate saw the cold glint of the razor sharp edge, but was unable to get out of its trajectory. Nate was stabbed in the shoulder. 

  
The knife went in deep and he staggered with the force of it and his back hit the stone brickwork of the pub they were outside of. A queer sense of disbodiment washed over him as he stared at the knife protruding from his flesh, the black handle shining dully in the florescent glow of the streetlight above them. His brain was fighting to catch up with recent events, but it couldn’t quite connect the dots.

  
He had been stabbed. 

  
Pain soon chased away the disembodiment and it bloomed across his senses like an ink stain on white cloth. It was a curious feeling, a different pain on an entirely different scale than what he was used to. He had been hurt in his Angel form in many different ways, of course. The pain he experienced in his Angelic form resonated deeper within him, more torturous.

  
His vessel’s pain, on the other hand, was sharper, cleaner, but by no means less painful. It radiated outwards from the wound, a hot throbbing writhing mess of broken nerve endings and sliced muscle. Nate blinked down at it, his mouth falling open in a small ‘oh’ as he struggled to say something.

  
The most important rule while being on Earth is to never draw attention to the fact that you’re Other. No wings out in full view, no power show, no healing. They can’t know. Even if that means your vessel gets irrevocably damaged. Even if that means you have to let the death of your vessel happen and you are returned to Heaven. 

  
Finally, he settled on “Ow,” before his legs gave way and he slid down the wall to sprawl on the alley floor. As his ass connected with the dirty cement, the impact sent a new wave of pain through his vessel and he saw lights in front of his eyes, a sharp cry torn from his lips. 

  
Everyone froze, Harri gripping the drug dealer by the lapels of his leather jacket, staring down at Nate with a look of alarm on her face. It would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so serious. The drug dealer, hand still held out in front of him from plunging the knife into Nate, looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a fast oncoming car. Nate got the distinct impression that he hadn’t actually expected to land the blow, that he hadn’t wanted to harm Nate.

  
He was scared and desperate. He lashed out the only way he knew how of living day to day on the streets, violent and destructive. Nate had been the closest person to him and a prime target for all of that ill feeling.

  
And Nate had been too preoccupied to obey his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, that he was in danger. The knife had come as a surprise, Nate thought bemusedly. 

  
One moment passed, perhaps two, before Harri snapped back into herself and she threw the drug dealer against the wall with far more force than was strictly necessary, the man letting out a pained squeak, before she wrenched his arms behind him and used her cuffs to lock him place. “You stay put,” she hissed at him, venom soaking her every word. “Or help me God, I will shoot you in the face.”

  
Harri let go of him and the man sunk to his knees, shaking and blubbering, “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t-” And Nate knew he wouldn’t run. He may be a drug dealer, pumping his body full of toxins for that chemical nirvana it gave him, but he wasn’t a stone cold killer.

  
“Nate,” Harri said, her voice breathless with fear as she bent down next to him. One hand rested on his uninjured shoulder while the other fluttered by the knife sticking out of him. “Jesus Christ, Nate. What the hell?”

  
Nate attempted a smile to reassure her, but it turned into a grimace and Harri didn’t look very assured. “You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Harri. You know that.”

  
“Are you really lecturing me on God when you have a knife sticking out of you?” Harri asked incredulously. She gripped her walkie talkie that was attached to her police uniform and began speaking into it rapidly. “Dispatch, we have a 10-999 situation on Abbotts road, by the King’s arm inn. I repeat, we have a 10-999. Officer down.”

  
Nate could feel the uncomfortable feeling of his blood making his shirt wet and stick to his perspiring skin. Nate reached up for the knife, his fingers grazing the handle before Harri slapped it away.

  
“Don’t pull it out, you idiot,” she said fiercely. “You can do more damage that way. I don’t need you bleeding out in some damn alley and making a mess of my uniform. Blood is a bitch to get out.”

  
“I think I’m bleeding out anyway,” Nate said, blinking owlishly at her, feeling himself grow dizzy and lightheaded, though that could be because of his rapidly beating heart. It felt like it was trying to beat an escape out of his chest. His breathing was uneven, shallow in his lungs, and every intake made his shoulder burn with an unholy fire. 

  
Ha. Unholy. He had made a joke.

  
“Hey, I’m sorry man,” the drug dealer was saying, his skin white and sweating more than Nate. He was looking at him with eyes that were big and fearful. “I didn’t mean it, you just scared me, is all.”

  
Harri pointed a finger at him. “You, shut up. You’ve done enough damage already.” She turned back to Nate and Nate was surprised to see Harri on the verge of tears, though she was fighting them back with her ire. “An ambulance is on its way, I just need you to stay awake for me. You think you can do that for me?”

  
Nate rested his head back against the wall. It felt a lot heavier than it did five minutes ago. He wanted to say ‘sure, you don’t need to worry’ but her serious expression stopped him. “Why would I fall asleep?”

  
“It’s a sign of shock,” she said, examining the knife and then carefully applying pressure around the wound with her hand. To stop it from bleeding so much. “It can have that effect on people. Trust me, you don’t want to go into shock.”

  
“Okay,” he said, but his voice sounded far away.

  
How many pints of blood was in a human body again? Scratch that, how much do you need to lose in order to cease living?

  
“Shock,” he repeated, and was that him slurring the word until it was almost unrecognisable?

  
Harri looked at him with growing concern. “Are you still with me, boss?”

  
He wanted to say yes but his mouth wasn’t working properly, it felt like it was full of cotton. He could only keep his head up with more focus than it should do, yet it listed to the side slightly like a drunk. His vision was growing dark in the corners, encroaching on the world around him until it felt like he was in a tunnel.

  
In the distance he could hear the sound of a siren, that of a fast approaching ambulance on its route to them.

  
“I’m sorry Harri,” he told her as he patted her hand, trying to comfort her. “But you’re right. It looks like I am in shock and I’m about to pass out now.”

  
“Don’t you dare!” She yelled. “Nate!”

  
Nate couldn’t fight against the encroaching darkness anymore. He promptly made good on his word and passed out. 

* * *

  
The next time Nate was conscious, he found himself in a hospital bed with his shoulder thickly bandaged up and the antiseptic smell of his surroundings making his nose tingle uncomfortably. A needle was sticking out of the back of his hand, a tube hooked up to a hanging bag that had saline solution printed on it. 

  
He was pleasantly groggy from painkillers, his brain slow with putting two and two together of previous events. It took him several moments to piece together why he was there in the first place. He and Harri had been questioning a drug dealer outside a pub about a spate of incidents occurring teenagers as young as thirteen being admitted to hospital due to bad LSD, one even dying upon arrival. All statements pointed to a dealer operating on Abbotts road... 

  
That drug dealer had then panicked and whipped out a knife, brandishing it wildly until he..

  
Ah. So that’s why he was in a hospital bed feeling like he had gone ten bouts with a professional boxer. 

  
“Do you know you snore, sir?” Harri said as she entered his little hospital room, closing the door behind her with one hand as the other was clasping a bulging sainsbury's carrier bag with the other. “Because you do.”

  
Nate pulled a face at her. “I do not.”

  
“Yeah, you do. You snore these sweet little murmurs, like a baby” she said as she sat in a blue plastic chair opposite his bed. She was still wearing her police uniform, the shirt creased and a little of Nate’s blood still on her cuffs and arms. She looked tired, pale skin and dark shadows under her eyes and her dark hair coming away from her no nonsense ponytail. Had she left his side at all?

  
“You’re lying, trying to make me feel self conscious,” Nate said with a half hearted grin, before he sobered. “How long have I been here?”

  
Harri shrugged, her eyes leaving him to stare down at the grocery bag in her lap. “About a day. You went into surgery as soon as we got here and the surgeons were able to stitch up the damage. Luckily Eric didn’t hit anything incredibly vital, so it was pretty straightforward.”

  
“Eric the drug dealer?” Nate asked.

  
Harri rumagged around the contents of the grocery bag and pulled out a pack of custard creams. “Eric the drug dealer was picked up by another unit and got processed back at the precinct, but he had made such a racket about knowing how you were that they allowed him to use his phone call to contact me for news. He sounded like he was going to cry the whole time.”

  
“Well, assaulting a police officer with a deadly weapon does come with a five year prison sentence,” Nate said. “Though I don’t think it was him who has been selling the bad drugs to children.”

  
“Nor do I,” Harri said. “He may be a drug dealer, but I don’t think he would stoop so low as to sell the drugs to children. His reaction to what he did to you is proof enough for that.”

  
Nate eyed her with a raise of his eyebrows. “Are you going to share those custard creams or are you going to torture me with them?”

  
She opened the yellow package up and chucked one at him. It bounced off his good shoulder and landed on the bed. “Don’t be a dick, sir. I just watched you get stabbed and I still have your blood on me.”

  
Nate picked up the custard cream but didn’t take a bit. “I’m sorry, Harri. I didn’t mean to make light of it.”

  
“I know you didn’t, sir,” Harri said and she looked at him with a serious expression. “Let’s not do that again though, yeah? It’s too much excitement for me, I'm used to the quiet life, me.”

  
“Agreed,” Nate smiled and bit into his custard cream. “Let’s not do that again. Ever.”

  
They fell into a companionable silence as they shared the biscuits, but silence never really suited them for very long. His eyes fell on the grocery bag and he couldn’t help himself. “What else do you have in there?”

  
Harri stood up and emptied the bag onto the bed at Nate’s feet. “Snacks to keep you going. I hear hospital food is pretty shit.”

  
Nate beamed. “Marry me.”

* * *

  
Nate had managed to persuade Harri that he would be fine and she should go home and get some sleep. She was obviously exhausted and it didn’t make Nate feel any better knowing it was because of him. 

  
She went with great reluctance, but go she did. Soon his surgeon had come in to talk to him about the surgery and the healing of his injury, all hopeful and assured of a full recovery. After they had left, it was only moments of the doors to his room shutting behind them that Nate had settled back into the pillows of his hospital bed and was fast asleep in no time. The next time he woke, it must have been late afternoon, as the room had darkened and a little night light above his bed was now on. 

  
He blinked a couple of times to dispel the grogginess of a painkiller induced nap and was suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. Across from him, in the chair that Harri had vacated hours ago, was Aeron. He had managed to fold his long body into the uncomfortable looking chair and had a newspaper in his hands, opened at what looked to be the finance section. 

  
Nate regarded him for a few moments, not entirely surprised to see him at his bedside, yet wandering why he was there to begin with. “How do you read about finances without falling asleep? The jargon alone should make your brain go numb.”

  
Aeron didn’t startle at hearing Nate’s voice, which meant that he had already been aware that Nate had woken up. “With a lot of practise and sheer force of determination,” he replied before folding up the newspaper and placing it in his lap, fingers smoothing out the little wrinkles in the pages. “Besides, financial jargon is the creation of demons, don’t you know. I take pride in the utter madness it causes.”

  
Nate rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Of course you do and of course it is. How could I possibly have thought otherwise?”

  
“Angelic ignorance,” Aeron supplied helpfully, if lacking in its usual sarcasm. His face was all seriousness as he regarded Nate in turn. Those dark eyes traced over the bandage at Nate’s shoulder, the large hospital gown he was now dressed in, and the intravenous drip at his hand. “Oh, Angel,” he said with a murmur. “What ever have you been up to?”

  
“All in the line of duty,” Nate murmured back. “How did you know I was in the hospital?”

  
“Your delightful sergeant,” Aeron replied with a wry smile. “When they took you in, she came into possession of your personal items, namely your phone. I was the last person you had called so she contacted me to give the news.”

  
Nate was mystified. “I had no idea she knew my passcode.” 

  
Aeron gave him a cool look. “Really, Nate. Having your passcode as 1234 wasn’t exactly difficult to crack for an intelligent young woman such as your sergent. Remind me to teach you the fine art of security when the Doctors release you from their care.”

  
“It’s not like I expect people to snoop on my phone,” he said defensively. “I work tirelessly to give people the impression that I am very boring as a person, that I am of no interest at all.”

  
“Erase the Angelic ignorance comment,” Aeron said with a sigh, “and change it to Angelic naivete. How can you not know that it is the quiet boring ones that have the most to hide?”

  
“Forgive me, I am not well acquainted with the art of subterfuge,” Nate said with a sweet saccharine tone of voice that practically dripped with his sarcasm. 

  
Aeron sighed like he was put out, which was clearly not the case. “I blame it on who you chose to hang out with, those feeble minded Angels who wouldn’t know how to interact with humans to save their precious Heaven. Now if you would only take a leaf out of my book…”

  
Nate stared at him. “What, hang out with the gravel chewer and condemn souls to the eternal flames of Hell to suffer for eternity?”

  
“Gravel chewer?” Aeron asked instead.

  
“Your chauffeur,” Nate replied. “The one who looks like he could chew gravel without it hurting him.”

  
Aeron’s expression cleared and he looked amused. “Ah, you must mean Barbas. He’s a fine specimen of a Demon, for your information. You could learn a lot from him.”

  
“I’ll take a hard pass on that, thanks,” Nate dismissed. 

  
“Shame,” Aeron said, though he looked pleased. “Looks like you will have to be content with my company.”

  
The teasing slipped away between them and Nate smiled for real. “Have we not been doing that this whole time?”

  
“I would like to say so,” Aeron said with his own smile. “Have you spoken to your Doctors yet? Do you know when you will be discharged?”

  
“I spoke to my surgeon,” Nate answered. “She was happy with the surgery. The knife hadn’t hit anything that wouldn’t heal with time. As to when I can be discharged, I don’t know. Not tonight or tomorrow, certainly.”

  
“I’ll see what I can do,” Aeron said and stood up to leave.

  
Nate became instantly suspicious. “Wait, what are you going to do?”

  
Aeron’s smile was incandescent and Nate felt like he had to blink against that dazzle. “I’m merely going to make myself acceptable to you doctors and see if I cannot spring you from this bed.”

  
Aeron left the room before Nate could protest. He watched the door swing shut and said to the room at large, “Oh no.”

  
He didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes Aeron came back with the ward matron, a middle aged woman who looked like she could bench press Nate without breaking a sweat. Yet she was staring at Aeron like the sun shone from his very being. She practically had stars in her eyes as she gazed up into his face and nodded along with what he was saying to her.

  
“As you can see, he really is the most pitiful creature,” Aeron was saying to her, arm thrown out to Nate with a flourish. “Being a police detective, he’s used to being up and about all the time and the idea of more bed rest is making him quite miserable.”

  
The matron tutted in sympathy, though she didn’t glance at Nate once. “Such a poor dear, I completely understand. But he has been stabbed and we wouldn’t want him to undo all the work his surgeon has done by him taking on more than he should.”

  
“Oh, I completely agree with you,” he assured her warmly and, Nate couldn’t quite believe it, she looked even more enamored. “But I fear our detective would get up to mischief with his boredom and become a nuisance to you. You are such a busy lady, I would hate it if my friend would become a burden to you.”

  
The matron didn’t even look at Nate when she answered. “You are such a thoughtful young man. I wish my son was half as thoughtful as you.”

  
“Quite,” Aeron responded and Nate had to hide his smile in his hand. “I think I can help you in regarding such a nuisance as this pitiful creature.”

  
“Oi,” Nate protested. “Who are you calling a pitiful creature?”

  
“I’m calling you a pitiful creature, do try to keep up,” Aeron said before turning back to the matron. “You can discharge the detective into my care. That way I can make sure he doesn’t undo all the good you fine people have done for him and you won’t have to trouble yourself with his care.”

  
For the first time since she stepped into the room, a little frown of thought appeared on her face. “Oh, I’m not sure about that. He really needs to stay with us-”

  
Aeron smiled down at her and Nate felt a frisson of his power as it wrapped around the matron like a blanket. “You really need not trouble yourself about him. He will do better with me than he will with you. Trust me,” he smiled again. “I know about these matters.”

  
The frown melted away from her face, her doubts soothed by the man’s confidence. Of course, who was she to doubt such a man as this one? “You’re right,” she said serenely. “I’m sure there will be no problem with discharging him into your care.”

  
“I knew you would be the person to apply to,” Aeron grinned.

  
The matron pinked at his words and mumbled about getting the discharge papers before leaving them alone again with a backward glance.

  
“You are a bad bad man,” Nate murmured. 

  
“Not a man at all,” Aeron replied. “Besides, it saved you from the boredom and the prodding, didn’t it?”

  
“And be discharged into your care?” Nate asked. “Should I be worried for my well being?”

  
Aeron’s grin turned mildly alarming. “Why would you think that?”

* * *

  
Nate had no experience with hospitals and their procedures but he got the feeling that discharging a patient wasn’t that quick or that easy. Aeron took care of all of it and Nate had to only get changed into his clothes, minus his shredded shirt. The hospital staff were kind enough to offer him a t-shirt in its place. It was a little difficult to work around his injured shoulder but with patience, but he was able to manage it. 

  
Within an hour, they had emerged from the hospital with clean bandages and a mountain of painkillers to take home with them. Aeron directed him to his car and eased Nate into the front passenger seat, before shutting the door and going around the car to the driver’s seat. 

  
The drive to Nate’s apartment was not long and done in silence, though not uncomfortably so. Nate relaxed back into the plush leather seat and let the sound of the engine lull him into a drowsy state, his eyelids closing, opening, and then closing again.

  
For a moment, he thought he felt the slide of Aeron’s hand against his own that was resting in his lap. But when he blinked his eyes open, Aeron’s hands were on the wheel and he was pulling into a parking spot outside his home. 

  
Aeron helped him out of the car and they traversed the stairs to his front door. Nate was reminded of the last time both of them were here and how different the circumstances were between them. He unlocked the door and let them both in, the feeling of being home and safe making him sag with relief. There was nothing quite like that feeling anywhere else in the world. 

  
Aeron deposited the painkillers and bandages onto the little coffee table in the living room, saying with a pleased tone, “You won’t be needing them now. How does healing work for an Angel’s vessel?”

  
He let Nate slide from his arms onto the sofa and Nate was careful to shrug. “It’s like giving the healing process in normal humans a little nudge, speeding up the works of the muscles knitting together and the white blood cell count to do its job.”

  
“And being in a human hospital instead of seeing to it yourself suited you better, did it?” Aeron mused and he dropped down next to Nate. 

  
Nate pulled a face. “Harri was there when I got stabbed. The next thing I knew I was in an ambulance and rushed into surgery. I couldn’t very well heal in front of a bunch of humans and scare them half to death, can I?”

  
“Well you could have, but I doubt your lot would have been particularly pleased. Here, I'll help.” he helped Nate sit up straight and began to lift the hem of his t-shirt up and tried to whip it off.

  
Panic washed over Nate and he grabbed at his t-shirt before it could go any further. “What are you doing?” He said in a tone not dissimilar to a scandalised debutante. 

  
Aeron raised his eyebrows at him. “I’m helping you take your top off in order to remove your bandages.”

  
Nate had known that, he really wasn’t stupid. “You don’t have to. I can do this myself.”

  
Aeron began to smile but tried to hide it. “Are you embarrassed, Nate? There really is no need for you to be, your vessel is very pleasing and you forget. I have seen it all before when you were at my place last.”

  
Nate was well aware of that time when Aeron’s demon lackeys had gotten a little overzealous and Nate had woken up in Aeron’s guest room, half dressed. That still didn’t lessen his embarrassment but it did stop him from objecting again. 

  
The t-shirt was drawn over his head and Aeron studied the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. “They did a good good wapping you up like an egyptian mummy, at any rate.”

  
Nate could only hum in reply. He felt his cheeks flush a deep red, his eyes darting around the room for something to look at, lighting on Aeron for the briefest of moments, before darting around the room again. It felt so intimate to be there on the sofa, half dressed and Aeron sitting so closely to him. It made his skin prickle oddly, his body flush with heat.

  
Aeron reached out slowly, as if letting Nate stop him at any time, and began to peel the tape off and started the process of unraveling the bandages from his person. The fallen angel’s eyes were intent on their task and it gave Nate the opportunity to study him in return. 

  
From the first moment they had met, Nate had known Aeron was good looking. He would fit in with the clear faced brooding models that are splayed on any given magazine or billboards across the world. Nate knew it had been picked with the idea of temptation in mind, for humans to look on him and to want him. He had the confidence of the self possessed, people stood a little taller, straightened their postures around him. Like they were trying to unconsciously impress him. 

  
To please him. 

  
Nate liked to look at him. That should have been a tell right there, a warning that the thing between them was a little more than a friendship born from their oddity. That when Aeron looked back at him, his heart gave a little jump, his stomach swooping low with a sensation not unlike nervousness.

  
Aeron was looking back at him now and Nate felt embarrassment sweep over him at being caught blatantly staring. He expected Aeron to say something about it, make light of it, to tease him a little. But he didn’t. Aeron kept eye contact as long as possible, before the last of the bandages fell off, and he caught sight of the wound made from the knife.

  
He made a rough sound in the back of his throat, his fingers gently probing the skin around the reddened flesh. Nate glanced down at it himself, noting the white thread of the stitches and admiring the clean pattern through his skin. 

  
“It looks worse than it is,” Nate said quietly, as if he was afraid to break the quiet hush that had fallen over them. It only occured as an afterthought of how stupid that reassurance was, considering he would heal in no time.

  
He was about to press his hand to the wound, use his grace to heal the injury, but Aeron beat him to it. His hand cupped Nate’s shoulder and his power brushed against Nate’s skin, making it tingle pleasantly. The hair on his arms rose as the power burrowed deeper into his flesh and instantly the hurt was soothed like ice to a fever.

  
Nate didn’t mean to make a sound. It was close to a moan, but Nate was able to cut it off before it got to the point of being obscene. His body was electrified, that energy pooling like warm honey in the bottom of his stomach and making him feel sensitised. He felt himself react, felt himself harden in his trousers. His breath was punched out of him in a gasp, eyes widening at his mistake. 

  
Aeron’s power withdrew and Nate knew without looking that the injury was completely gone, his skin as unblemished as before. Aeron was looking at him again with his lips parted, his breath coming a little faster than before. His pupils were dilated, the black almost eclipsing the colour of his eyes.

  
Nate wanted to apologise for his reaction, but his brain tripped over the words and nothing came to his mouth. What did a person say in this situation? Sorry for you making me feel good, I wasn't expecting that? Whoops, who knew a fallen angel’s power could feel sexual to me?

  
When Nate could speak, his voice sounded wrecked. “Aeron-”

  
Aeron bent his head forward to his shoulder, and Nate wasn’t sure what was about to happen until he felt Aeron’s lips brush the skin that had healed in a chaste kiss. He pulled back just enough to breathe across it and made Nate shiver involuntary, before he kissed the same place again, lips parted. Nate felt the flicker of his tongue briefly. Nate’s breath hitched audibly. 

  
He pulled away to look at Nate’s face. His voice was a gravelly rumble. “Do you want me to stop?”

  
The answer came out before he really had a chance to think about it. “No. I - please don’t.”

  
“I won’t,” Aeron purred in satisfaction before he took Nate’s face into his hands and they kissed.


	14. Chapter 14

  
As an angel in Heaven, kissing was a foreign concept to beings that knew nothing of sexualitiy, existing in a void of Other. They had experienced the feeling of brotherhood, loyalty, the unfailing love towards God and, later for some of them, the bitter taste of jealousy, even hate. 

  
He had heard of the Grigorii watchers so long ago, the corrupted Angels that had fallen for copulating with women, but they were never talked about save for a lesson to others where carnal pleasure could lead a brother to. 

Kissing, sex, and romantic love was for the humans. It wasn’t until Nate had come to Earth that he knew such a thing existed, could be experienced. He had seen the act in the street as lovers greeted each other, seen a lot more in their movies and questionable videos on the internet, before he quickly clocked off and purged his mind of the images. Those things were not for beings like him. 

  
In the five years of Nate being on Earth, he had never kissed anyone before. At least, not like how Aeron was kissing him now. There had been the odd occasion where he had kissed his elderly neighbour Mrs Hemmingway on the cheek for her unending kindness towards him since he had been living at his apartment. She often worried about him being a bachelor instead of having a pretty wife to come home to at the end of the day, and often he found himself plied with cooked dinners he could heat in his oven.

  
There was also that time at the precinct’s christmas party two years ago that was held at their local pub and, after a fair few beers and a ridiculous amount of delicious food, some nefarious officer had brought out the mistletoe. Nate had been bullied into kissing Kelly from the call department by the usual suspects by drunken chants of ‘kiss, kiss!’ and ‘It’s christmas!’. They had both been pretty tipsy by that point and the kiss had been rather lackluster and not at all executed with much finesse, so Nate wasn’t sure that it really counted.

  
Everything paled in comparison as Aeron’s hands came up to gently tip Nate’s head back at the right angle for him to lick into Nate’s mouth with a low growl of satisfaction. The slip-slide of their tongues against each other was a foreign sensation but it spread heat in Nate’s body and his own hands reached up to fist into the front of Aeron’s shirt, wrinkling it horribly. That alone was satisfying. 

  
What started off as a slow searching kiss that allowed Nate to get to grips with the mechanics of what to do, it soon grew deeper and more impassioned as they explored each other’s mouths. Aeron’s hand slid to the back of Nate’s head, burying his fingers in his hair and giving a soft tug and it sent an instant jolt of pleasure through Nate’s body and he made a soft sound. Aeron answered him by tightening his fingers in the hair, tilting his head further back so Aeron could take control. Their tongues slid together and it was so distracting, so enjoyable, that he found it difficult to concentrate on how to breathe properly.

  
His lungs burned with the need for air and he was forced to pull away to take a panting breath. Aeron didn’t even pause, he glided his mouth along the line of Nate’s jaw and licked a path down the side of Nate’s sensitive neck. The move made Nate’s skin rise in goosebumps and his mouth drop open in a groan, his breath deepening, eyes growing heavy lidded with want. 

  
Oh. 

  
His body flooded with a wave of heat, his limbs going all shivery as Aeron began to suck the skin that connected his neck to his shoulder into his mouth, the stinging pressure a pleasurable counterpoint to the heavy feeling building up inside of him.

  
Aeron finally pulled away from the deep purple mark he was worrying into his skin long enough to ask, “Am I the first person you have kissed?” His voice was two octaves lower than his usual baritone and Nate liked the sound of it more than he should.

  
He felt his face flushed with embarrassment at the question, suddenly feeling very inadequate. “Is it that obvious?” He asked sheepishly, an apology for his inexperience on the tip of his tongue.

  
Aeron shook his head in the negative. “Not at all, you’re a fast learner.” Aeron pressed their foreheads together so that they breathed each other’s air. “Would you think bad of me if I told you that knowing I'm your first pleases me?”

  
This time Nate’s face reddened for a different reason. “Well, you are one of the fallen. I can’t say that it surprises me to hear it.”

  
Aeron smiled before he slid his arms around Nate and, using his strength, pulled Nate forward so that he was now straddling Aeron’s hips as he himself leaned back on the sofa. “In that case, let’s see how many firsts I can claim.”

  
Nate gripped Aeron’s broad shoulders to balance himself better, a spike of nervous unease at their new positions made him tense up a little, muscles going stiff at the touch. Aeron, being so close to him, immediately felt it and slowed.

  
“Hey,” he said softly, getting Nate’s attention. “Alright?”

  
Nate nodded his head and forced himself to relax. “It’s just,” he struggled to put into words. “It’s new.” He finished lamely, not being able to voice all the complications of why this was such a big deal to an Angel.

  
Nate expected Aeron to say something condescending about how Angels were all prudes at heart, but he remained serious as he watched Nate’s face. His face didn’t change, but Nate got the impression that he understood what was being left unsaid. His hands settled on Nate’s hips, the hold was firm but not painfully so. If Nate really wanted to, he could break that grip easily. 

  
“Whatever you want,” Aeron assured him, a note of desperation creeping into his tone, “I’ll give it to you. If you don’t like it or it’s too much for you, tell me to stop and I will.”

  
Nate nodded again and Aeron drew him down into another kiss. His hands at Nate’s hips tightened and he pulled them flush together. All thoughts fled from Nate’s head at the contact and he gave himself up to the sensations that Aeron instilled in him with his own body. 

  
With their mouths otherwise occupied, Aeron’s hands left Nate’s hips to slide up the trembling sides of his naked torso, palms flat against his skin and leaving fire in their wake. They dragged across his chest and Aeron’s fingers caught at Nate’s nipples. 

  
The reaction was instantaneous. Nate let out a little cry, his hips rocked forward on instinct and Aeron greedily lapped the sound up. His fingers stroked his nipples again, circling the nubs until they grew taut and aching for more. 

  
“You like that?” Aeron crooned as he pulled away just far enough to whisper those words against Nate’s lips. “Does it make you feel good?”

  
Nate didn’t answer, his body was broadcasting his enthusiasm loud and clear for the both of them. He felt himself harden in his trousers and it sparked something desperate inside him that made him scrabble at the front of Aeron’s wrinkled shirt, almost clawing at the buttons to get them open. 

  
“Off,” he ordered in an imperious tone that didn’t sound anything like him at all. He sounded wrecked already. 

  
“As you wish,” Aeron replied with far too much smugness in his voice and his hands left their slow torture of Nate’s nipples to unbutton his shirt. Nate was momentarily bereft of that touch, but he was soon rewarded by the uncovering of Aeron’s torso. His chest was just as glorious as his face, with smooth tanned skin and well defined musculature that made Nate’s heart skip a beat as he looked at him. He wanted to follow the ridges of dips with his hands that he practically ached for it. 

  
And why not?

  
Nate helped him peel the material off of his shoulders and down his arms with clumsy haste, the cuffs catching at his wrists before it was finally stripped off with a few good yanks and Nate let it fall to the floor at their feet without watching what he was doing. There was so much skin on display that Nate hardly knew where to look or touch for first.

  
He reached out and stroked down Aeron’s chest, paying special attention to the feeling of all that hot skin against his palms, how Aeron’s breath stuttered when he fanned his fingers out against his sides.

  
Nate tilted his head to the side. “Ticklish?”

  
“Not overly so,” Aeron said vaguely, never taking his eyes away from Nate’s face. 

  
Nate in turn watched the progression of his hands as he traced the musculature with the tips of his fingers, as light as butterfly wings. 

  
“Is that better for you?” Aeron asked cheekily, arching against the back of the sofa so that nothing obstructed Nate’s touch or view. 

  
“You’re shameless,” Nate said, trying to play it cool but coming across as breathless. Aeron was warmer than the average human, warmer than Nate was himself, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was due to the fires of Hell that fuelled that heat.

  
“Yes,” Aeron said with all honesty and, seeming to lose his patience, pulled Nate forward again on his lap. It was like a drug and Nate sank into that warmth, feeling the obvious bulge in Aeron’s suit trousers beneath him. They were now flush against each other, skin to skin, and Nate wrapped his arms around Aeron’s neck, revelling in the feel of him. 

  
Aeron encouraged Nate to grind his hips forward and start a rolling rhythm that had them both panting for breath. The friction caused by the grinding made pleasure coil low in his belly, sending little shocks up and down his spine. Nate’s eyes closed tightly as he sped his movements up, back arching as he became overwhelmed with the feeling. 

  
There was a short sharp snarl and the next thing Nate knew he was splayed out on his back on the sofa with Aeron kneeling above him, eyes dark and intent upon him. Nate watched him back with wide eyes as Aeron began to unbuckle the belt of his own trousers slowly, showing off, the rasp of leather sliding through the metal buckle loud in the silence of the room. He pulled the belt free of the belt loops, dropping it to the floor before returning to unbutton his trousers and slide the zip down with intent. 

  
Nate tracked the movement, rapt. The material slid down strong thighs, only stopping when they could go no further, revealing tight black briefs that clung to the curve of Aeron and left little to the imagination. There was sparse dark hair that trailed down from Aeron’s naval and disappeared under the waistband of those briefs. Nate hadn’t even noticed it when he was in Aeron’s lap before, though he thought that he may be forgiven for that when Aeron’s chest was on display. 

  
“Alright?” Aeron asked again and Nate nodded, not being able to find his voice. 

  
“Good,” he said and the underwear soon followed the way of the trousers, his hard cock slapping against his abdomen when it was freed. Nate nearly choked on his tongue at the sight of it. 

  
Of course he would be proportionate as the rest of him. Nate couldn’t stop himself from staring so obviously, it made him feel almost light headed to be presented with the evidence of how he affected the fallen. 

  
“Keep staring at me like that and this won’t last very long,” Aeron murmured as he stood up from his kneel on the sofa, his trousers and briefs falling away from him to puddle on the floor. 

  
“Ah, sorry,” Nate murmured, not really sorry at all. “I can’t help it.”

  
“Don’t be sorry, it’s gratifying,” Aeron said as he reached down and began to take Nate’s trousers off. Nate watched him do it, breath quickening as the tight pressure on his cock eased with the zipper being pulled down. “I would have you look at me like that all day if I could.”

  
“If I did that, then I’m pretty sure that Harri would have to arrest me for lewd behaviour,” Nate said, his voice shaking with anticipation as his trousers were pulled down, his pants following suit.

  
He had the strong urge to turn away in embarrassment, not wanting to acknowledge that he was naked in front of Aeron and being viewed so openly. It was discomforting to be so vulnerable to another like he was and he wasn’t used to it. 

  
Especially one who can read him like an open book. “Don’t do that,” Aeron said with some force. “You don’t need to hide from me. You’re beautiful.”

  
There was no getting away from the painful sincerity in those words and Nate blushed a deep red, but did as he was told. 

  
Satisfied, Aeron knelt on the sofa again, hands pushing Nate’s legs apart enough so that he could lay between them. Aeron used one arm to prop himself, elbow bent and hand pressed to the sofa arm by Nate’s head. In this position, Nate felt caged in by the bulk of his body, his world narrowing down to just the two of them. 

  
It was bliss. 

  
The lay pressed against each other from ankles to chest and Nate gave a full body shudder at the feel of Aeron’s hard body against his. Aeron leaned down, aligning their cocks up, before he took Nate’s mouth into a hard kiss as he thrust against him.

  
The pleasure turned molten and they moaned in unison. Nate’s hands scrabbled at Aeron’s biceps and he arched up to rub against the fallen angel, his nails biting into the skin as he built a fast punishing pace. Nate was almost pushed along the sofa cushions with the force of the thrusts and the only thing he could do was hold on and enjoy it.

  
Their skin began to dampen with sweat, easing their way as they continued to thrust against each other. Nate’s eyes had been closed the whole time, savoring the rush of chemicals in his body, but they shot open when Aeron’s hand wriggled between them and wrapped around both of their lengths and stroked from root to tip.

  
He couldn’t keep the kiss going with that much sensory input and his head fell back against the cushions, his mouth making all sorts of sounds that he would have been mortified about if he wasn’t so out of his mind with pleasure. Aeron busied himself with laying open mouthed kisses down Nate’s neck and collarbones, sucking the skin and nibbling with those even white teeth of his. 

  
Aeron tightened his hand around them and Nate nearly blacked out from how good it felt. He was nearing the end, a culmination of pleasure and excitement that threatened to overtake him, make him burst into thousands of tiny fragments of himself, his angelic form released on Earth. 

  
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Aeron said into the skin of his throat, his hot breath fanning out across his damp flesh and making it tingle pleasantly. “You should come. I want to see you come, Nathaneal.”

  
It was more than Nate could take, hearing his true name spoken in a tone saturated with want. His back bowed like a bowstring as the staggering sensation flowed through his body and crested. Hot lips fastened over his as he loudly cried out and climaxed, his seed striping Aeron’s hand and his own stomach.

  
Nate’s completion seemed to send Aeron over the edge not long after. He groaned low in his throat, his hand stuttering in its rhythm and Nate felt his whole body tense up over him, his muscles standing out in sharp relief as Aeron’s seed joining his own. 

  
Minutes after, Aeron broke their kiss and collapsed on top of Nate, face buried in his neck and breathing rapidly. Nate stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, floating serenely with the warm glow of experiencing his first orgasm. 

  
No wonder the Grigorii watchers fell for the human women. If they felt anything that Nate had felt, was now feeling, he wasn’t sure he could give it up either. 

* * *

  
Once their breathing had returned to normal and the pleasant glow had been replaced by the uncomfortable feeling of cooling sweat and other unmentionable fluids drying on their skin, reality came creeping back in. With it, Nate found it difficult to meet Aeron’s as he quietly panicked.

  
“Don’t freak out on me,” Aeron entreated softly as he nudged Nate’s chin up so he had no choice but to stare into those dark eyes.

  
“I’m not freaking out,” Nate quickly assured him and immediately got a sardonic look for his troubles. “Okay, maybe a little bit. I think i’m entitled to freak out a bit, I just had sex with a fallen angel, my greatest enemy.”

  
Aeron scoffed. “I wouldn’t exactly call what we did sex. More like heavy petting.”

  
“You’re missing the point,” Nate said with exasperation. “Can we please be serious for one moment?”

  
Aeron immediately kissed Nate and he stood no chance against such persuasion. He was like putty in the fallen angel’s arms, his objections turning to smoke in the wind. 

  
After a while, Aeron pulled away to say, “I’m always serious when it comes to you. Perhaps the real question is, do you regret what we just did?”

  
Did he regret it? Nate took the time to really think about it before he spoke again. “I don’t regret it,” he finally said and he meant it wholeheartedly. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to regret something like that when it was with Aeron. 

  
He had broken another rule and the numbers were stacking up. 

  
Aeron rewarded him with a slow kiss. “I never would have gone through with it if I thought you would have regretted it,” he said. “I just wanted to hear you say it aloud. And whatever comes after, we will see it through. Okay?”

  
Nate nodded. “Okay.”

  
“Good. Now,” Aeron levered himself up with a groan. “We should probably shower before we get stuck together.”

  
Nate winced. “That sounds wonderful to me.”

  
They made it to the shower where they proceeded to clean themselves under the hot spray. Nate had considered a shower to be a necessary function, a means to get clean, and had given it no other thought. Sharing a shower with Aeron proved to be another matter entirely. He took Nate’s shampoo, squeezing a liberal amount into the palm of his hand and began to massage it into Nate’s hair, carding his hands through the strands and making Nate’s eyes closed in bliss.

  
It wasn’t a sexual act per say, but it was intimate and Nate’s heartbeat was faster than it usually was when he returned the favour, having to lean up to get the top of his head. Aeron tilted forward until his forehead rested against Nate’s shoulder, his eyes closed and practically purring when Nate dragged his nails over his scalp. 

  
Nate may or may not have bit his lip when he felt Aeron graze his teeth over his collarbone, his lips slick over Nate’s wet skin. 

  
If using the shampoo was an intimate act between them, then using the shower gel to work over their bodies was off the charts. What should have been a ten minute shower at the most turned into a shower of forty minutes. They only left it when the hot water ran out. 

  
Now they laid in Nate’s bed, tangled up together with the sheets thrown over them. Nate was sprawled over Aeron’s chest, his cheek resting against Aeron’s shoulder. Aeron’s arm was wrapped around him, hands drawing nonsensical patterns over his back. 

  
He was halfway between sleep and awake when a thought occurred to him. “We both know i’ve never done that before. Have you?”

  
Aeron hummed. “I wouldn’t be a very good corrupting influence on humanity if I didn’t at least seduce a few human souls now, would I?” 

  
Nate lifted his head so that he could stare at Aeron with an eyebrow raised. “Your seduction didn’t really lead to the humans losing their souls, did it?”

  
Aeron smirked down at him. “Despite what priests will preach from their pulpit, it takes a lot more to condemn a human’s soul than having sex outside of a marriage bed.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I just wanted to try it. See what all the fuss was about.”

  
“And did you?” Nate asked curiously.

  
“In a way,” Aeron answered. “The act itself is pleasurable and I enjoyed it with both men and women alike. Humans have a lot to teach us about enjoyment, don’t you think. But it grew more and more troublesome to keep myself in check. If I lost control for one moment, I could have revealed myself to them, or worse, killed them. The practise grew tiring after that.” Aeron looked at Nate. “Does me having previous lovers upset you?”

  
Nate couldn’t help but smile. “Are you asking me if i’m jealous of your human lovers? That my blood boils at the very idea that you didn’t remain chaste for the millennia of human history to save yourself for me?”

  
“Just know that none of them came close to you,” Aeron said in all seriousness and Nate slapped his shoulder in mock irritation. “No, really. Are all Angels as just as insatiable as you?”

  
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Nate groused and turned his face into Aeron’s skin to hide his smile. It soon evaporated with the sobering thought of what they had done. “If either of our sides knew what we have done, they wouldn’t suffer us to live.”

  
Aeron was quiet for a moment, taking his words in. “If that’s the case, then we better make sure they don’t find out,” he said, like it was simple. Easy. That all it took was simply to not shout it from the rooftops. 

  
“Easier said than done. You don’t know Heaven,” Nate said softly. 

  
“Perhaps,” Aerons said, his hand sliding into his hair and guiding Nate back to his neck. “But you have a fallen Angel on your side, and i don’t know if you’ve noticed but my kind are a little cunning.”

  
Nate sighed. “How silly of me. How could I have forgotten?”

  
“I’m charming,” Aeron murmured, his hold on Nate tightening, like he was loath to let him go. “It happens.”

  
Nate closed his eyes and breathed Aeron in deeply, committing this moment to memory. Whatever happened now, he had this very moment to draw on. To remember.

  
To keep safe.


End file.
